Extraordinary
by AmayaSora
Summary: The years after the Second Wizarding War aren't going well for Draco Malfoy, but for Harry, life is great. When they are thrown together, both will learn the incredible power of love and, especially, of choices. HPDM, epilogue compliant Now Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there!**

**What you see before you is the product of many days of planning, many nights' studious work, and then many MORE nights' worth of editing and organizing. Extraordinary was an idea in my head long before I made it my 2010 NaNoWriMo project. I've completed that contest, making this fic the longest thing I have ever written.**

**I am very, very pleased with how it turned out. I hope that you will like it, too. I'm aware that practically _every_ Drarry writer on this site has done something like this, but I feel like I've added enough of my own original touches to make this stand out. But, yes, it is my take on events from the end of the war until the epilogue (it complies with the epilogue, actually). I've tried to stay true to canon as much as possible, but for the sake of plot, I've put Lucius and Narcissa in Azkaban rather than letting them go free as Jo would.**

**Sorry for "talking" your "ear" off over here. I promise I won't have an A/N this long again. Please, enjoy!**

**-AmayaSora**

**_DISCLAIMER:_ I don't own Harry, Draco, Ron, or any other part of the wonderful Harry Potter universe. I write out of pure love for the series and for personal pleasure, not monetary gain.**

His footsteps were loud in the enclosed street, bouncing around the brick walls, assaulting the ears from all directions. Yet Harry Potter's were light in pursuit, silent even on the cobblestones. And they were gaining, although the suspect- a big, burly guy with a slight crick in his neck- was unaware of this.

Harry thought that there was nothing better than being an Auror. After all he'd been through, he couldn't see himself doing anything else. And, at only nineteen years old, he was the youngest on the force, the youngest in the _history_ of the force. Well, actually, that wasn't so great; it added to the clamoring and autograph requests and general annoyances of his celebrity status.

But, such was to be expected for defeating the most evil wizard ever known. With that finite crash decades of uncertainty, fear, and loss came to an end... in an ideal world, that is. In the real world, while Voldemort was dead (good and truly this time), his supporters still remained, scattering on the wind like seeds.

To prevent them from sprouting more evil, Kingsley- or, Minister Shacklebolt, as he was properly called now- had made it priority number one to recruit the best Auror force possible. Many of the veterans having been lost- Harry's heart still gave a painful jolt when he remembered Moody and Tonks- it was up to the next generation to fill the void.

To this end, Kingsley had approached Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and a few others who were instrumental in the final battle and in the resistance inside Hogwarts the previous year. The offer was extraordinary, but, as he said, "this situation is unprecedented."

He gave each of them the opportunity to enter the Auror training program, as they were, no NEWTs required. At this point Hermione immediately declined, saying she'd already begun studying for that test and really wanted to assess her skills; and she didn't fancy being an Auror anyway. She would later confide privately in Harry and Ron that McGonagall had allowed her to return to school for her missed, final year of studies, and she was delighted about that.

However, the others readily agreed to this proposal. Well, Neville's agreement wouldn't really be considered_ readily_; he had initially refused the offer, preferring to try something else. Yet he showed up the following week for the beginning of training, slightly pink in the face and refusing to talk about his Gran to any of them.

What followed was, by far, the fastest Auror Academy session ever held. The instructors, by pushing the boys (and the few girls) to their limits, had managed to condense three years' worth of curriculum into a single one. Thus, even though his training was short, Harry felt well prepared for anything Dark wizards could throw his way.

Already, he'd seen quite a lot of those tricks. Death Eaters were still at large, and tended to cluster together in pockets to plan evil deeds, generally in the middle of peaceful, law-abiding neighborhoods. Which made an Auror's job the perfect fit for someone with a_ saving-people-thing_ like he had; there was something incredibly rewarding about seeing the looks on people's faces when you arrived with the silver A emblazoned on your robes, and then, even better, the joyful tears when family members were returned or neighborhood peace was restored. Harry loved his job.

This running bit, though, was getting really annoying, he thought as he continued to pound the pavement. Usually he left the sprints to Ron, who was faster due to his long legs and five older brothers, but tonight they had had split up to chase two separate suspects.

He hoped Ron would catch his man; he usually did, but this group of Death Eaters had proved wilier than most. And they really were Death Eaters; he and Ron (and Seamus and Dean, before they got pulled to the giant case) had been investigating them for a month now. This bloke here was really low-level; he didn't even have the official Dark Mark, just the substitute one that had begun to crop up once the originals had faded upon Voldemort's death. Harry really couldn't understand why the man was running so furiously; his punishment would be just.

He approached a corner, and Harry redoubled his speed; he knew that the anti-Disapparition wards ended here, and it would be a nightmare trying to find this guy again. He hurled himself around the bend, phoenix wand outstretched, only to catch a glimpse of a spinning blur.

Desperately, he hurled a Tracking Jinx at the billowing cloak, praying that it hit. The loud _pop!_ that filled the air depressed him slightly; the subtle glow on the tip of his wand, and the pull it was exerting over him removed that feeling.

The jinx had been illegal under the previous administration, but his past experience as an Auror had assured Minister Shacklebolt how valuable a tool it would be. Kingsley also knew that only when the Death Eaters were rounded up could life return to normal. So he'd issued a temporary authorization to Aurors only for the use of that spell, with fantastic results: it had led to several captures already.

Harry leaned against the wall to catch his breath as he mumbled the words to cut off the spell's pull. He could find the man later, any time he wanted to. March had not yet lost its chill, so his harsh breaths filled the air, little white puffs floating upwards towards the stars. The sky had not yet changed from navy to the true black of night.

After this brief respite, Harry began to look around. The back wall of the Muggle factory against which he'd been leaning faced a small street, on the other side of which were a dozen or so houses. They'd have to be Wizarding houses, too, because the alleyway through which he'd sprinted was invisible, and, thus, inaccessible, to Muggles.

Harry had no knowledge of a Wizarding village in this part of London; yet another perk of being an Auror was that he got to travel the country and visit many of the towns in his world, something he relished. The state of the houses showed that they'd been abandoned for some time; paint was peeling, hinges had rusted, and some roofs had even caved in.

The path he walked on was smattered with weeds, too, although that wasn't surprising given that it was a simple dirt road. Muttering a quick _Lumos_, Harry began to cautiously explore the area. His Auror training made him alert for any possible threats that could be lurking; it could be a trap, with the criminal he'd been after as the bait.

As he walked to his left, however, it became more and more apparent that no sinister plots were afoot. Of this he was grateful; he'd had a very long day and wanted nothing more than to get home and enjoy a nice mug of tea.

For the sake of protocol (he wasn't _that_ exhausted), he turned around and began to walk the other direction. But he did allow himself to relax and lower his wand a bit, letting the soft light bathe the ground in front of his feet so he wouldn't trip.

Just as he was about to Apparate, a flickering light caught his eye. At first he thought it was the fire, but on closer inspection realized there were flashes of colored light as well- spells, quite a lot of them in quick succession. This was coming from the side window of the last house on the block. He hurried over to the house, which was in the worst state yet; the windows were all broken, the fence had been destroyed by the winds, the shutters ranged from hanging by a thread to lying forlornly on the ground, the front stoop was crumbling, and there was almost no roof to speak of.

The path that Harry stepped onto was so overgrown with weeds- Muggle and magical alike- that he could barely discern where it was. He needed to investigate what was going on in that house, even though it was quite likely to be something of minimal concern.

Keeping his wand aloft, he silently extinguished the light, lest he give away his position. His feet still made no sound on the grass as he crept around the corner of the house. There was a door on the side, which was ajar, and revealed the flickering flames of a campfire. It appeared to have been fed with floorboards from the room adjacent.

Harry counted four men in the room, stalking around the fire, shadows stretched hugely onto the ceiling. The one was gesturing wildly, and as he stepped closer he began to make out what he was saying.

"-ing to go, huh?"

"Anywhere he bloody wants to, now the little shit's got my-"

"It's all of our money! You're not the only one who matters here!"

The man who had spoken second rose up menacingly to his full height. "I'm not, am I? Who leads this here gang, eh? _Need me to show you?_"

"Alright, alright, calm down a mo'," said another voice. "We can just go and get more then, can't we? More of _either_," it said, evidently cutting across someone else.

"It's the principle of the thing," the first guy said.

A new, fourth voice cut in, urgently. "Guys, guys, I know what to do! You know who that _was?_ You know how much money we could get for him?"

Harry blinked in surprise. They were talking about kidnapping, and he highly doubted they'd gotten that money through legal means. Those guys had to be young, from the sounds of their voices, not older than thirty-five. Still plenty of time to be set straight. Maybe he'd even be able to talk them out of whatever scheme they were hatching.

Breathing deeply to fill his lungs with air, he forced the door open (with, it turned out, a bit too much force, for it hit the wall with a loud bang) and raised his wand in one swift motion. "Stop! Don't move," he commanded.

For one brief moment, the men obeyed. In this time span, Harry realized that they were not Death Eaters, because when they saw him their faces lit up with unexpressed gratitude instead of pure fear and loathing. Some days the gratitude got really bothersome, but today he could use it to his advantage.

"Now, guys-" he began, but one of the men blurted out "It's Harry Potter!" and dashed for the exit.

His comrades began to follow, shoving furniture behind them in a mad dash out the door. Harry was thus delayed in reaching the door by having to leap over overturned chairs and tables, and even a bookshelf, so that by the time he wrenched it open, the men were halfway down the path.

"Stop!" he yelled again, but at this the terrified men began to Apparate. One bent down to the ground, as if to grab something, but the leader yelled "Leave it!" and in an instant, they were gone.

Harry felt it was a waste to use a Tracking Jinx on them; they were only run-of-the-mill lowlifes, after all. Still, he hoped he'd run into them again, make sure they were toeing the line and keeping on this side of the law.

He reached the spot where the crook had bent down, but try as he might he couldn't see anything there. He murmured "_Accio_" and with a sudden _woosh_ of wind a small talisman in the shape of a jaguar leapt into his hand. It seemed to be fairly worthless, a trinket with sentimental value only. Harry placed it on the one fence post left standing, which was supporting a rickety gate.

It was much too fragile to walk through, so he stepped around it and into the alleyway behind. Now, he stood facing the hedges of a Muggle neighborhood; hopefully there were charms to prevent them from coming out into these properties.

Harry took a perfunctory look around, alert for any signs of further trouble, but found none. He nodded once to himself, satisfied.

At that moment, the gate detached from the hedge with a creak and landed with a disproportionate crash. But there was nothing there. Shaking his head, Harry took it as a sign and ,after a few more steps, turned on the spot, vanishing into thin air with a quiet _pop._

xxxxx xxxxx xxxx

It was 3:04 am, and Harry sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a coffee mug. The steam wafting off of the top twirled up to the ceiling, tendrils slowly vanishing as they rose. High above a new moon shone, or didn't, whatever the proper term was, and the wind whipped twigs and trash in a chilly howl.

But the inside of Number 12, Grimmauld Place was, thankfully, nice and warm. Kreacher had reluctantly gone to bed half an hour ago, but had kindly left the fire going, softly, to radiate warmth and light out of the now-clean fireplace. The house-elf liked to stay up with Harry when his master couldn't sleep (which happened quite a lot, certainly more than he'd like), but this was the third night in a row and the elf had been exhausted.

Harry didn't mind the quiet; he could just be, reflect on things, gather his thoughts, order his emotions. The house seemed to respect that, because not even a floorboard creaked. It was clam, peaceful.

Until a knock sounded at the door. It was a short burst of frantic pounding, followed by increasingly erratic taps, further and further apart, with less force, slowly drifting down towards nothing.

Harry sat his mug down, grabbed his wand, and went to investigate. He hadn't really bothered with security too much even after the Fidelius Charm was dissolved; the Unplottable Charm helped with security a lot. Others at the Ministry had urged extreme measures to protect the residence, but Harry was content with what he had. He wanted to be able to relax in his home, and he wouldn't feel safe knowing all those enchantments were barricading him, because they served as a constant reminder to the dangers lurking in the world all around. It was a weird mindset, he knew, but that's the one he had.

Besides, the knocking didn't really seem too threatening to Harry. The Death Eaters didn't know where he lived, and besides were too scared of him, and of the rest of the elite Auror force, to be that blatant about an attack. At this hour, it had to be something important, and Harry never liked to ignore important things, especially when it seemed like another person was in serious distress.

He tapped his wand sharply against the wooden door to release the locks, and the banging started up again, as wildly as before. Harry opened the door, and before he had time to think a heavy body fell through it and into his arms.

He instinctively caught the person, pulling him close to his chest and allowed both of them sink to the floor in a controlled fall. Once there, he gently lifted the unconscious shoulders to get a better look at his visitor's face, and promptly dropped them again, eyes wide with shock.

It was Draco Malfoy! His face was thin and even paler than usual, and a nasty gash stretched across his right cheek. His robes were ripped and torn, edges unravelling, dirt coating every inch, and the sleeve of one of them was stained with blood.

While Harry filed his knowledge of Malfoy's identity away for later use, he focused on the one undeniable fact that this was a person in desperate need of help. "Kreacher!" he called, loudly. Thankfully, the horrid portrait of Walburga Black had been relocated to one of the spare bedrooms, and so wasn't disturbed. (It had taken some careful flattery and subtle manipulation of Kreacher's desire for his mistress' well-being that allowed Harry to convince the elf to move the painting to a "more dignified place better suited to someone of her status", but it had been well worth the effort.)

The elf appeared at once, his large-eared head poking out from behind the kitchen door, which had been left ajar. "Master called?" he said, and, upon seeing the limp form on Harry's lap, bustled over.

The raven-haired man stopped him. "Kreacher, I need you to go boil some rags. Clean water, maybe a bit of ointment if you can get it." The elf turned on the spot with surprising speed for one so old and hurried away.

Harry, for his part, conjured a stretcher, and then carefully magicked Malfoy onto it. He intended "carefully," anyway, but the process resulted in much jostling and what had to be discomfort for the other man. Frowning, Harry slowly maneuvered up the steps to the second floor bedroom he'd claimed as his master.

As he got Malfoy settled on the bed, he couldn't help but notice the feverish temperature of the blonde's skin, which deepened his frown. Kreacher arrived with the towels, and Harry directed him to go procure cold ones now, apologizing for the extra work.

"Actually, never mind, Kreacher, I've got it," he said decisively, and cast his strongest Cooling Charm on one of the rags, reducing the water's temperature before placing it gently on Malfoy's forehead.

Then, he turned to the window and sent a Patronus.

**So, this is my least favorite chapter. The style seem really awkward to me, and I had to get a lot of the boring exposition stuff out of the way so it seems to drag a a bit... However, it's really your opinions that matter here, right? I'd really love to hear from you.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, dear readers!**

**I feel like this chapter is much better, so I decided to upload it immediately after the first one, to give you guys a more accurate idea of my writing style and this fic as a whole. Hope you enjoy it, and feel free to leave a review with your thoughts!**

**-AmayaSora**

**_DISCLAIMER: _I don't own Harry, Draco, Ron, or any other part of the wonderful Harry Potter universe. I write out of pure love for the series and for personal pleasure, not monetary gain.**

Within minutes Ron had arrived via Floo. He'd also brought Ginny, whose Quidditch practice had overrun. Harry smiled delightedly at the sight of his girlfriend. After the battle, they'd immediately gotten back together, officially, and, with great difficulty, managed to maintain that relationship even when Ginny returned to Hogwarts for her final year and Harry went away to Auror training.

Ginny had gotten signed to a minor-league Quidditch team fresh out of school, so even now they didn't see each other too often, due to busy schedules. But they were still close. One of his fondest memories was that night resting with her under the stars two months ago, watching the arrival of the new millennium.

Ginny smiled back, and moved to stand next to her boyfriend. Taking a steadying breath, Harry explained the turn of events, and when done, asked "What would normally happen in a situation like this?"

"There's nothing _normal_ about it, Harry!" Ron yelled, and Draco stirred fretfully on the bed, but didn't awaken. Harry glared at Ron, a silent reminder to stay quiet.

The ginger opened his mouth to reply, but Ginny gave him a quelling look. Turning to Harry, she said, "Ordinary people would cart him off to St. Mungo's and have done with it. But you were always extraordinary, Harry."

Her voice was soft, but firm, somehow full of conviction. Harry reached for her hand, feeling its warmth in his own. He looked down at Draco's face, which was contorted in pain and fear even in sleep. And suddenly he knew what he was going to do- as if there was ever a doubt, really; he was Harry Potter, after all- he was going to do what was right.

xxxx xxxx

Ginny and Ron had gone back home, Ron incredulous, ranting about how "there's a time and a place for nobility, Harry, but this isn't it!"

Ginny had kissed him softly and said, "I'm proud of you, Harry." before disappearing into the fire in a whirl of red hair and yellow robes.

Harry kept vigil by Draco's bed that night. Eventually, he fell asleep, because suddenly it was morning and he had a blanket draped over his body in the chair, courtesy of Kreacher.

Yawning and stretching stiffly, he noticed the rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains, and promptly sauntered over and opened them. Malfoy looked even worse in the harsh sunlight; there were deep bags under his eyes, bruises blossoming on his skin where ever it was visible through the torn clothes, and the cuts oozed blood nastily. Harry hurriedly shut the curtains- manually, forgetting magic in his haste- and picked up his wand from where Kreacher had laid it on the dresser.

_"Renervate,"_ he commanded. Draco's eyelids fluttered, then he suddenly jerked awake, eyes wide and startled, breathing rapidly, thrashing frantically about in the covers.

"Shh, shh, Malfoy, it's alright. Calm down," Harry soothed. Terrified eyes fixed on his face and held for just a second before closing. He slumped back to the bed, eyes closed.

Alarmed, Harry checked for a pulse- it was still pounding in his wrist. Malfoy jerked away from the touch, and his eyes snapped open again. "Potter?" he whispered, voice ragged.

"Yeah," was all Harry could reply. Malfoy closed his eyes again, deliberately slowly this time.

"I thought maybe I imagined you."

"No. I'm here," Harry said, sinking down to perch on the edge of the bed.

"Where is 'here,' exactly?" Malfoy asked, making an effort to open his eyes.

"My house," came Harry's simple reply. At that, Malfoy's eyes finally stayed open, and he attempted to lever himself up into a sitting position using his left arm, but winced loudly and gave up, cradling his wrist.

"What happened to you?"

"None of your business, Potter," Malfoy snarled.

"It'll be a lot easier to help you if I know what caused the injuries," Harry reasoned.

"Who said I _wanted_ you to help me?"

"I don't know, collapsing in my arms, on my doorstep, would be a big clue."

Malfoy's eyes widened at that, but his reply was scathing. "Please. I was obviously delusional. As if I'd ever come to _you_ for anything."

Now Harry was annoyed. He'd been hoping that perhaps a weakened Malfoy would be less contrary and easier to deal with than a healthy one, but was sadly mistaken. He supposed he should have known better, really. "There's the door, then, if my house is so repulsive to you."

Malfoy, with great effort, set his face into an expression of calm, superior dignity. It only lasted a second, though, because he gasped in pain the instant he turned his torso to leave the bed. He collapsed back down on the sheets, clutching his ribs.

"Merlin, Malfoy," sad Harry weakly, shocked at how quickly that intense pain had come on. Perhaps Malfoy'd been feeling it for a long time, but was quite good at hiding the fact.

After an uncomfortable stretch of Malfoy writhing on the bed (Harry was sure he wouldn't be allowed to help), the Slytherin was lying stiffly on his back, breathing shallowly. The worry creases on Harry's forehead deepened. _How badly was Malfoy hurt?_

"Malfoy. Malfoy, I need you to tell me where it hurts. Anywhere that's painful, even a little bit, let me know, alright?"

Malfoy took a deep, tremulous breath, and closed his eyes. When he spoke it was in a horribly detached and impersonal voice, as if he was reading off a catalogue. "Ribs, feels like three broken, one here, two there. Bruises on my stomach, above the ribs obviously, one forming on my jaw. Palms scraped, cut here, here, and here-" he punctuated with a pointing finger "-deep gash on this cheek, and my left wrist is sprained."

Harry just stared at Malfoy in horror; when the other's eyes opened, he quickly schooled his features into a more sympathetic expression. "Right, well. S'pose you should let me get started healing those?"

Malfoy nodded curtly, avoiding Harry's gaze. Harry then set about casting the simple healing spells required for the minor cuts and gashes.

"_Tergeo_," he finished, siphoning off the dried blood. Malfoy looked loads better now; some color was back in his cheeks, and from what Harry could see the fever had broken.

At this moment, Kreacher came bustling in, precariously balancing two full breakfast trays. The little imp must've been listening at the door, for one of the trays had a bottle of Skele-gro perched conspicuously on the side. Harry smiled wryly; he didn't really mind, but if he'd asked Kreacher would have been invited in.

The Auror crossed the room quickly to take the trays from the aged elf; they'd be no use if the contents were all over the floor. He sat them down, Malfoy's on the dresser and his own on the floor by his feet, and found Kreacher peering around the bedpost curiously.

"Kreacher, this is Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, Kreacher." Of course, Kreacher already knew Malfoy; Harry had had the elf follow Malfoy around during their sixth year at school, and Kreacher had made illicit visits to Malfoy Manor during his time under Sirius' control, but as there was no guarantee Malfoy knew any of that, it was best not to bring up unpleasant memories.

"It is an honor to serve you, Master Malfoy," Kreacher croaked, voice like a bullfrog, and he bowed low. "Kreacher did not know Master Harry knew Master Malfoy; no, Kreacher thought the Malfoys hated-"

"That's okay, Kreacher. You've done well; you can go to the kitchen and start lunch now, alright?" Harry said hurriedly. No need to get the elf started on that subject. Looking slightly put-out, Kreacher obliged, bowing again before backing out of the room.

"I didn't know you had a house-elf," said Malfoy, who had viewed the exchange with some interest.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," said Harry shortly. After a bit of an awkward silence, he cleared his throat. "Okay, well. Skele-gro isn't pleasant, so I'd recommend you eat before you take it; you won't feel like doing anything afterwards."

"No."

"What?" Harry couldn't believe Malfoy was going to be this difficult. It was just a suggestion; there was no need for the venom in the word.

"I won't take the Skele-gro," Malfoy elaborated.

Harry sighed dramatically. This was going to be a long day. "Look, there'll be time later to start petty fights, alright? Right now I have to heal you. Broken ribs are especially dangerous."

"No. I will not take Skele-gro," Malfoy looked Harry full in the face as he said this, jaw set and determined.

"What, you're just going to walk around with half your ribs broken, waiting for them to heal the Muggle way? What's going to happen if someone bumps you in an alley, pushes one of them inwards?"

"Of course not. Can't you just cast a spell or something?" Malfoy asked petulantly.

"I didn't learn any; my Auror training was a bit different than usual." This was not strictly true; the recruits had all gotten the full curriculum, but Harry was hopeless at healing spells. It was frankly a miracle he'd mastered the simple ones he did for cuts and scrapes. But, there was no reason to tell Malfoy that, and no reason to show him how inept he was, either.

The boy in question rolled his eyes. Harry was rapidly losing patience. "Look, I've got places to be. I don't have time to babysit you all day. Take the damn medicine."

"No."

"Fine!" yelled Harry, throwing himself out of his chair. "Fine. Hermione is good at this kind of thing, I'll call her and-"

"Don't!" Malfoy's voice sounded desperate and quavering, and his hand flew out to grab Harry's wrist. That stopped his pacing immediately. He found Malfoy's face, and the eyes were wide and pleading. "Just you. Please," he added in an anguished whisper.

"Alright," Harry promised softly, stunned by the sudden display. Malfoy withdrew, and there was another long, awkward silence. "Your food is getting cold," Harry ventured, and moved the tray onto Malfoy's lap.

The man ate greedily, Harry saw as he sat down with his own breakfast, surreptitiously watching his guest.

"It gives me nightmares." Harry looked up, startled. He hadn't been expecting Malfoy to speak. "Skele-Gro. That's why I don't want to take it."

Something in his posture or tone of voice awakened some protective instinct inside Harry. Malfoy looked like a small child, lost and frightened, and Harry felt a rush of pity. "That's alright; you don't have to," he said, and vanished the bottle with a flick of his wrist. He smiled at Malfoy, who averted his eyes.

They ate what was left of their breakfasts in silence. When it was done, Harry managed to get a look at Malfoy's wrist. He couldn't know for sure, but it certainly seemed sprained and not broken. He magicked a translucent splint around the extremity, using a modified version of the Ferula spell Lupin had used way back in third year. One positive result of practically failing the healing course was that Harry was a master at "in-between" measures like stretchers and splints.

"Okay, now for your ribs. I'll have to do those the Muggle way, I'm afraid," Harry said. Malfoy was being strangely silent, but he still felt better talking to his charge.

The bandages Harry conjured were soon wrapped tight around the injured ribcage. Malfoy had winced horribly several times; Harry could tell he'd wanted to actually cry out, but restrained himself. He kept flinching away whenever Harry touched any part of him, which was alarming in its own right.

After Malfoy grudgingly admitted that he could breathe better now, Harry chanced to glance at the clock. 8:30! Yikes. "Wow, I have to be heading off to work now," he said, gathering up various clutter as he did. "You can borrow some clothes from that wardrobe-" he jerked his head in the direction "There's a shower down the hall, third door on the left. And Kreacher will be around with lunch; send him to me in an emergency."

Malfoy nodded, closing his eyes and relaxing back into the pillows. Harry stood in the doorway for a few minutes, worry etched onto his face, before softly closing the door and hurrying down the steps.


	3. Chapter 3

_**DISCLAIMER**_**: I don't own anything that you recognize.**

The morning passed excruciatingly slowly for Harry. Ron was waiting for him the instant he got in the door to their office.

"Harry! What's going on with Malfoy? Have you brought him in yet?"

"Brought him in?" said Harry distractedly.

"Yeah, you know, so we can question him and all. He's up to something, Harry, I know he is!"

"Ron. He's already had a trial, remember? They acquitted him."

"Yeah, well, that was completely bogus, Harry, you know that. Besides, if he's committing _other _crimes there's no rule against another trial."

Harry sighed. If he didn't do something soon, Ron was going to get into his stride, and then he'd be in for part nine hundred thirty four of the "Malfoy is a Scum-Bag Death Eater Who Should Rot in Azkaban" rant. It had started over a year ago, in the lead-up to the Malfoys' trial, and continued with renewed vigor when Draco didn't enter the Wizard jail with his parents.

"Ron, he came to me for help. He was hurt and desperate; I mean, why else would he come to see _me?_ Especially if he was a criminal, too."

Ron looked flummoxed for approximately half a second before his face burst into a wide grin. "That's it Harry!" he shouted, causing curious stares from all their neighbors. "It's a trick, don't you see! A spy mission, or a secret assassination attempt, or, or-"

"Ron, just stop, alright. I know you don't approve. As soon as he's well enough, he's gone, okay? And we'll be well shot of him."

That seemed to placate Ron. To further discourage a return to that topic, Harry said "That reminds me. How did it go with your Death Eater last night? I never got to ask you."

Ron's face lit up, and he launched into the tale, to which Harry was only half paying attention.

He went through the entire day with half a mind on Malfoy. Every time he turned a corner, he half expected Kreacher to appear out of thin air, bringing news, summoning Harry back. But no house-elf came. Harry figured no news was good news, but it was still difficult not to worry. Malfoy'd looked so vulnerable.

At lunchtime, Harry found Hermione at her usual table at the corner of the outdoor cafeteria, reading the _Daily Prophet._ Her right hand clutched a mug of tea, and on it he could see her golden wedding ring glinting merrily in the sunlight.

She and Ron had married almost immediately after the battle. Hermione had insisted; it had taken seven years for Ron to figure out he liked her, and she didn't feel like waiting another decade for him to decide to take the next step. Regardless, the couple was ludicrously happy, for which Harry was eternally grateful. They deserved it.

"Hey, Hermione," he greeted, plopping down on the bench opposite her.

"Hi Harry. How are you?" She put down her newspaper.

"Doing well," he said cautiously. The question and her piercing gaze told him that she knew all about Malfoy, and was dying to talk about it. She at least had the courtesy to wait for him to bring it up. Not that that was going to happen, if he could help it. He was definitely not in the mood for another lecture about recklessness. "How's the Rogers case coming?"

"Oh! Very well, actually. I've interviewed everyone involved, and it really seems that Rogers is innocent, but someone's certainly done a thorough job framing him." Hermione worked in the Department of Magical Law, in a middling position right now. She'd been offered a supervisor's position- ostensibly on the basis of her superb NEWTs- but had refused. Hermione didn't want to let her fame and the role she'd played in the war give her an unfair advantage over others, so she'd started from the bottom and worked her way up. She was really, really good at it, though, and Harry had no doubt she'd be higher up than he was very soon.

Now, however, she was happily prattling away about the particulars of the case that she was allowed to discuss. Harry listened and occasionally interjected a question; he wanted to get on her good side, but this was also a case that he legitimately cared about. It had been the last one Neville'd done before leaving to pursue an Herbology apprenticeship.

Towards the end of lunch, Harry decided to go for it and ask his most pressing question. "By the way, Hermione, I've been meaning to ask you: what are some good charms to heal broken bones?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed immediately. "This is about Malfoy, isn't it?" she said, trying and failing to keep the excitement out of her voice.

"No. I just feel like it'd come in handy on the field." He'd been hoping to keep the discussion in the context of his professional and not his personal life, but seeing the look on her face, he knew there was nothing doing. "Alright, fine. Yes, it's about Malfoy. And yes, I realize that I'm taking a risk here."

"Actually, I think it's noble of you. And, unlike Ronald, I don't feel like you're in any particular danger. You saved his life twice, Harry; people don't just forget something like that," she said, as if Harry had indeed forgotten that fact.

"Thanks Hermione!" he said, grinning hugely. Hermione was on his side! "So, um, healing bones?" he prompted hopefully.

"Yes. Well, _Episkey_ might work, but it's usually for extremities, and with bones it can cause sprains. It's a very violent action, and-"

"And can you heal sprains?" Harry asked excitedly. He hadn't really considered the possibility, but it would help Malfoy considerably to have the use of his left wrist.

She gave him a patronizing look, obviously annoyed at being interrupted. "No, Harry. Professional Healers can, but the spells are really complicated, too complicated for anyone else to attempt. Delicate tissues are really easy to mess up."

"Right, maybe Reynolds did mention something about that," said Harry sheepishly, belatedly remembering a similar caution from his instructor. "Aside from _Episkey_, how else can you heal bones?"

"Again, a lot of the spells are really complicated, Harry, so I'd be careful using them. _Reparo brackia_ works in a pinch, or _Texerium._"

Harry was disappointed. Those were the same spells he'd tried, and failed, to learn at the Auror Academy. He'd hoped Hermione would know something else, a more foolproof spell ideally. But he kept his voice cheery when he replied. "Okay. _Reparo brackia_ and _Texerium._ Right. Thanks, Hermione."

"Sure. If you wanted me to come over and help you, I'd be more than-"

"No," he said, a bit too quickly. He didn't feel right sharing Draco's request; it felt indecent somehow, like a secret. And he knew the blonde wouldn't be happy if he knew Harry had said anything. "Um, well, it's just, you're so close to finishing the case," he tried to salvage it. "I want you to do as well as you can on that; you don't need to worry about me. Besides, I am a highly trained Auror. I think I can handle a little healing spell." He struck an exaggerated heroic pose, complete with eyebrow quirk, that lasted an entire three seconds before he and Hermione simultaneously burst out laughing.

"Okay, Harry," Hermione said after the laughter subsided. "You'll keep me updated, won't you?"

"'Course I will. See you."

"Bye," she called over her shoulder as she tottered off to her department, newspaper floating in front of her.

xxxx xxxx

Harry arrived home distinctly disheveled. He'd cut out of the office earlier to retrieve the Tracked Death Eater from the night before, which had gone off without a hitch. Ron had insisted on accompanying him, and regaling him with more dire warnings about Malfoy's motives.

Finally, the raven-haired man had managed to fend his friend off and arrive home without an escort. He shucked off his coat immediately upon entering. The smell of herbs and spices wafted down from the kitchen and made Harry's stomach growl. He'd not eaten enough that day.

Kreacher emerged, crisp white tea towel squarely on his waist, to straighten Harry's coat on the rack. "Kreacher is making beef stew, sir. It will be ready in about an hour."

"Great. How's Malfoy doing?"

"Master Malfoy has been most considerate, sir. He has not bothered Kreacher for anything sir, even though Kreacher was only too willing to help him-"

"Huh," he mused, beginning to ascend the stairs. "When's the last time you actually saw Malfoy?"

"Shortly after Master Harry left this morning."

Frowning again, Harry quickened his pace. Upon reaching the second floor, he found the bedroom door locked. He rapped sharply with his knuckles. "Malfoy? It's me."

There was no answer, so Harry tried again. "Open up, Malfoy," punctuated by fist poundings. Again, nothing.

Worried, Harry decided to forsake privacy for the sake of safety. He said "_Alohamora_" loudly enough for Malfoy to hear him (in case he wanted to be polite after all), and heard the lock click. He pushed the door open to reveal Malfoy curled on the floor, clutching his ribs desperately, legs writhing.

Without thinking, Harry crossed the room to kneel beside the Slytherin. He placed a hand on Malfoy's upper arm, and the grey eyes snapped open. They then widened, and their owner made a valiant effort to pull himself into a sitting position.

"What happened?" Harry demanded, just a hint of anger coloring his concern.

"I was trying to Apparate. _Obviously_-" the condescension was ruined slightly by the enormous gasp Malfoy made as he finally succeeded in sitting. "-it didn't work. Neither did crawling back to bed." He winced as he shifted.

Harry could tell that behind his tough front Malfoy was in quite a bit of pain. Something had obviously happened in the intervening years since Hogwarts, because the teenager he'd known certainly wouldn't be able to tolerate this kind of pain.

He would save the lecture on the idiocy of Malfoy's actions for later. Now, he had to get Malfoy back up into bed, where he'd be more comfortable. Harry remembered with a grimace the horrendous jostling his earlier attempts to move the blonde by magic had been, and he didn't want to damage the ribs- now an unknown quantity- any further.

That left the Muggle way. "Right. I'm going to lift you up, get you back on the bed, if that's alright."

Malfoy nodded stiffly, and Harry cast a quick Lightening Charm over him. It would only last for a few seconds, but it was necessary; he didn't think he was strong enough to carry Malfoy's full weight. Bending down, Harry slipped one arm under Malfoy's knees and used the other to cradle his shoulders, and hoisted him up off the ground.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, squirming in an attempt to get away.

"I told you, getting you back into bed." Harry heaved himself into a standing position.

"I thought you meant magically," Malfoy whined, inching as far away from Harry's chest as he could.

"This way's faster, and has much less chance of jostling your ribs unnecessarily." The charm was rapidly lifting, and it took all Harry's speed to get Malfoy the three steps to the bed. He placed him down, gently, and then made to pull up the covers.

Malfoy glared daggers. "I _can_ do that myself, you know. I'm not an invalid," he said haughtily. But as he reached for the sheet he let out a mighty shout and curled back into the fetal position.

Harry bit back a scathing "You were saying?" There would be time for that later. Catching sight of Kreacher hovering in the doorway again, he sent the elf off to brew a Pain Potion, post haste.

"Pain is that bad?" he prompted softly.

Malfoy nodded curtly, and took a long, wavering breath. Slowly, he began to uncurl, each small movement seeming an uphill battle as he fought against crying out again, against showing weakness. Harry let him finish before removing his wand from his pocket. Malfoy eyed it suspiciously.

"Relax. I'm just going to heal your ribs up a bit. Unless you'd rather I left them like that?" Harry inquired.

The Slytherin sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Alright," he breathed in a defeated tone.

Just then, Kreacher hurried in with a full goblet. "Perfect timing. Thanks, Kreacher," Harry took the potion with a smile.

"If Master wishes Kreacher will stay and help. The Malfoy boy-"

"No, that's alright, Kreacher. Thank you," Harry said, gently yet firmly. The elf bowed, almost reluctantly this time, and slowly left the room. "Come back when dinner is ready, Kreacher!" Harry called cheerily after him, hoping to appease his wounded pride somewhat.

"Well. This'll make you sleepy, but it should help dull the pain a bit." Malfoy took the goblet awkwardly, since he grabbed with his left hand with the splinted wrist. Harry tried to keep his own hands on the goblet to help steady it, but again Malfoy's glare stopped him. The guy was surprisingly independent, fiercely so, especially for one who'd grown up in the lap of luxury, with elves to wait on him hand and foot.

Even so, the man managed to get the potion in his mouth (though not without much frustration at the slow-going that required). Harry waited a moment, until Malfoy's drooping eyelids told him it had taken effect.

"Okay. I'll have to check that your ribs are aligned properly before I go and heal them. So I'll need to feel around a bit, possibly move them some, and it'll hurt even with the potion. Just so you're aware."

"Just get on with it!" Malfoy mumbled.

After a pause to shrug indifferently, Harry unbuttoned Malfoy's shirt. Well, it was actually one of _his_ shirts that Malfoy'd borrowed, but that was a technicality. He saw that the pale skin was covered by the same bandages as before, and they bore splotches and discoloration from water. Malfoy had evidently tried an Impervious Charm when he went in the shower, and it had been shoddy at best. Filing that information away for later, Harry went about unwrapping the damp cloth.

He was greeted with fresh bruises, blossoming a horrid blue-black around the bottom pair of ribs. Harry winced sympathetically, but Malfoy, with his eyes shut in a potion-induced daze, couldn't notice. "Okay, here I go," Harry warned, before gingerly poking the ribs nearest him.

Malfoy frowned, but otherwise gave no sign of distress. As far as Harry could tell, the attempted Apparation had pushed the ribs inward (which made some sort of sense logically, as he always felt like he was going through a compressed tube). Luckily, it was only a few millimeters; not enough to cause serious damage (what if it'd hit the lungs? he thought) but definitely enough to hurt.

Harry tried to be as gentle as he could as he maneuvered the three ribs back into position. Malfoy squirmed a bit and yelled "Ow!" several times, but soon enough it was done, to the best of Harry's ability anyway.

He chanced a glance at Malfoy; his eyes were still closed, but this time squeezed shut deliberately, and he'd forced his mouth into a tight, straight line to prevent crying out. There was probably some sort of complex involved in this, making him so adamant about not showing pain, but it wouldn't do any good to dwell on it.

With a deep breath, Harry pointed his wand at the first rib (the second to last one on the right side, the side nearest him). "_Texerium,_" he intoned, and the glow of light under Malfoy's skin told him the spell was working and the edges of the bone were knitting back together.

Malfoy gasped, hands curling into fists on the bed, and he squeezed his eyes still tighter. Harry hadn't known that the _Texerium_ process hurt. "Sorry," he told Malfoy, who grunted in response.

Trying to get it over with as quickly as possible, Harry went straight on to the next rib and repeated the process. This time, he found Malfoy's hand clenched over his own wand-free one, which he had rested on the bed. Knowing Malfoy probably needed the comfort, he didn't pull away.

"Almost done, one more," Harry whispered as he leaned over Malfoy. The final rib was on the opposite side, and although he'd get a better angle by crossing, he didn't want to make Malfoy let go. He enunciated the spell clearly, and Malfoy tightened his hold, squeezing so hard it made Harry's eyes water.

After a few seconds, it was over. Malfoy sighed in relief, and the immediate change in his breathing showed Harry that he was asleep, finally exhausted by the potion and the healing process.

**_"Texerium" _is from the Latin word texo, meaning "to weave" (also the origin of the word textile :)). _"Reparo brackia" _is an altered version (the CORRECT version, in my canon) of the spell Lockheart tried to do in CoS. **

**Thanks for reading! Hope to hear from you soon, via review :)  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**_DISCLAIMER _is in the first chapter.**

"Malfoy. Malfoy," Harry called gently, touching the Slytherin's shoulder. He had wriggled his hand free shortly after Malfoy had drifted off, and gone off to change out of his work clothes and fill out some paperwork he'd neglected during his Death Eater round up.

Malfoy opened his eyes, slowly this time. He rubbed them with the back of his right hand, and then began to sit up. Harry's hand, still on the blonde's slim shoulder, pushed down, stopping him. "Easy there. Those ribs are knitted back together, but they're not one hundred percent cured yet. You'll need to take it easy for another two weeks or so."

Again, Harry had told a little white lie; done correctly, _Texerium_ would have completely eradicated the injury. But Harry's attempt (though it had been his best to date) wasn't strong enough, and so there were still pockets of unconnected space, like the gaps between stitches in a knit sweater.

Malfoy nodded, but as soon as Harry moved his hand he sat up again, but slowly this time. It seemed to work alright, thankfully, thought Harry, and Malfoy adjusted so that he could lean back against the headboard.

Harry beamed at his guest. "Great! So, dinner's ready, if you want some. Kreacher made beef stew, although if you don't like that I'm sure-"

"Stew is fine, thank you," he said primly, and Harry slid a tray onto his lap from its previous place on the bedside table.

The Gryffindor stood uncertainly for a moment, then said "Well, I have to eat too. I can go downstairs if you'd rather..."

Malfoy shrugged non-committally, at which response Harry sank awkwardly into the chair he'd occupied the night before, a finely stuffed armchair covered in midnight blue, embroidered cloth. He perched his own bowl of soup on the arm rest and so began to eat.

After about a minute, Malfoy piped up. "I know that you said I was in your house, but where precisely is this house?"

Harry swallowed loudly. "Grimmauld Place, in London."

If the name meant anything to Malfoy, the blonde didn't show it, simply nodding and returning to his meal. After another short pause, he spoke again. "The elf. He belongs to the house, doesn't he?"

Harry nodded. "How did you know?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Please, Potter. You're the last person who'd go and purchase a house-elf, and this place isn't your style at all. Clearly you inherited it, and it logically follows that the same person left you the elf."

Now, here was a flash of the old Malfoy that Harry remembered. He suppressed a grin. "Right. Well, yeah. I got this place right before sixth year."

Malfoy nodded minutely and continued eating. This time, it was Harry who broke the silence after it had fermented. "Do you want more? I can have Kreacher bring some up for you."

"Certainly," the blonde replied. Kreacher, it transpired, had been listening at the door, for less than a second later he swung it open, bowing low as he entered with a full pot of stew.

"Kreacher is honored to serve Master Malfoy," he croaked as he doled out a liberal ladle of stew.

Malfoy's lips twisted into an odd little smile at those words. Harry couldn't quite pinpoint it, but there was something wrong; it wasn't a genuine smile, nor a true grimace, but somewhere in between.

"Glad to hear it, Kreacher," Harry cut in, before Malfoy had time to utter a reply that would most likely significantly reduce Harry's goodwill towards him. It was based on pity and his sense of duty at the moment, and those things only stretched so far.

"Yes, thank you, Kreacher," Malfoy said, voice neutral. The little elf seemed so shocked as to be rendered speechless for a moment. When he finally did regain his voice, he rasped "Master Malfoy is a good boy, yes he is, he does his family proud."

Seeing the dark and pain-filled look that crossed Malfoy's face, Harry hurriedly dismissed the elf. He was certainly coming off as a very rude master, but he hoped Kreacher would understand that the situation was so unusual that it threw him entirely off guard. He'd have to work to make it up to the little guy, however.

"So," he said awkwardly. "That was Kreacher," he added, for lack of anything better to say.

"Clearly," said Malfoy, with a raise of his eyebrow. Harry could almost hear the aspersions on his intelligence that Malfoy clearly wanted to express churning in the man's brain.

"Yeah. Yeah, um, hopefully you've been able to find everything you needed?" Malfoy nodded again, eyes fixed firmly on the soup bowl in front of him. "Good. Good. So, what happened to you, anyway?"

"I injured myself, Potter, and that is the only thing that concerns you," he bit back harshly.

"You don't have to be rude about it! I was only trying to be friendly, you know,_ nice._ I guess the art is lost on you." He didn't know why his temper flared up so quickly, but it did. Probably from the years of automatic retorts to Malfoy's comments at school.

"Are you quite sure you understand the definition of the word 'nice,' Potter? Because generally yelling at people and imprisoning them is not what one considers nice."

"What? You tried to leave, and that worked so well, didn't it? I was trying to stop you from hurting yourself further!"

"As much as I appreciate the sentiment, Potter, it was unnecessary." Malfoy put down his spoon with a clang. "Now, I thank you kindly, but I really do have to be going."

Malfoy made to stand up, hesitant at first, and then a look of triumph blazed on his face as he completed the task without being wracked by pain.

Harry was noticeably alarmed. Malfoy really was not well enough to be wandering about by himself; he still looked weak and pale, and his bruises, sprain, and ribs weren't fully healed. It was, at best, a tenuous semblance of health. "Wait!" he cried, following Malfoy into the hall. "Where are you going to go?"

"Away. Out. Somewhere that's not here," he said stiffly. He was favoring one of his legs; apparently there was yet another injury to recover from.

Harry darted around him to block the stairs. "You're in no fit state to be wandering by yourself, Malfoy."

"Who said I would be by myself?"

"Name one person you've been in contact with in the last six months." This was a trick question, and Harry knew it; Ron had done some preliminary investigating and found that no one had seen or heard from Malfoy since the day of his trial.

Malfoy looked briefly defiant, about to lie, but abruptly that brightness faded out of his eyes and he sagged. "Fine. You win, Potter."

That alarmed Harry too. "Malfoy? What-?"

"_You win_. I'll stay. I won't like it, I can't promise I'll be civil, but I'll stay." He sighed and turned around. "I'm so tired," he whispered, almost to himself.

Harry watched him return to the bedroom and close the door, without having any clue what to say.

xxxx xxxx

A few hours later, Harry knocked softly on the door before quietly letting himself in. Malfoy hadn't stirred since the fight before, and Harry was, oddly enough, worried. He'd just looked so utterly defeated, hopeless...

"Hey," he called softly. Malfoy was sitting on the bed, facing away from the door and out the small window. The view from this angle was only of a brick wall, so it was clear he was lost in thought.

"Malfoy," Harry said, a bit louder this time. The blonde jerked, and then winced as the movement affected his sore ribs. Harry smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I was just stopping in to see if you wanted some coffee. I'm making a pot for myself."

"No. I'm fine," he said curtly.

"Oh. Well, scone then? Toast? I can see if Kreacher'll heat up some of the leftover stew."

"I'm fine," he repeated, but with more feeling this time. Harry watched him for a few seconds before shutting the door and heading back down the steps.

He didn't know why, but he felt really sorry for Malfoy. Here was a guy who had had everything, and then the next second it was all gone because he'd backed the wrong team. Unlike Ron, he couldn't hold grudges. He'd seen too many people, too many families torn apart by real things in this war, and wasn't about to let a petty thing like that add more pain to the world. Besides, the whole point of defeating Voldemort was to make a better world for everyone, not just the resistance fighters.

These were the kinds of thoughts that filled Harry's head as he trooped back up the steps, coffee in one hand, his wand in the other levitating a tea tray with another cup, some scones, and sugar. He knocked cheerily with his foot, hoping Malfoy would open the door this time, because he had no free hand to do so himself.

Luckily, he did, just a sliver through which a blonde head peaked out. But he made no comment as he swung the door completely open and retreated to the bed, once again laboriously settling himself against the headboard.

Harry used his foot to pull the chair closer to the side of the bed. He gently lowered the tray to rest on the blue sheets before sinking down carefully into the seat. He took a sip of coffee, watching Malfoy over the edge of the cup.

"I didn't know how you take it, so I just brought the sugar so you could do it yourself."

Malfoy took the cup, sniffed it discreetly, and then used the little tongs to lever a cube into the brown depths.

"Only one?" Harry asked, a tad surprised; he himself used at least three, and even Uncle Vernon had used two. "That's very dark- er...black, um..."

"It's alright," Malfoy said evenly, and if Harry didn't know any better he could've sworn that was amusement hiding deep down in his eyes.

"Right," said Harry, sipping again. "Hope it's okay. Probably not what you're used to, but..."

"Coffee is coffee," he said simply. "What kind of scones are they?" he asked timidly.

Harry grinned. "Blueberry or lemon. Go on, have one."

Malfoy grabbed the nearest one and took a delicate bite. "Those are quite good. Kreacher made them?"

"Bought them, actually. Not really much of a baker."

There was another protracted silence. Harry wracked his brains to find a topic of conversation. What did you say when your childhood nemesis appeared unexpectedly on your doorstep? There's never been a class about this, at Hogwarts or after. Perhaps there should've been; it would have been a damn sight more useful than "Identifying Muggles and Determining the Best Way to Avoid Their Notice." Honestly, how often did Dark Wizards go gallivanting around Muggle towns?

That was something to talk about. "So what have you been doing with yourself lately?"

"Various tasks, none of which are your particular concern, Potter." He said it quite evenly, but Harry could see how his shoulders had tensed. Apparently personal topics- no matter how remote- were off-limits. Good to know.

"Right. Well... have you been enjoying those, er, tasks?"

"Yes, thank you," he said stiffly.

Harry cast his eyes around the room for something else to say. He felt like such a bad host, not doing enough to entertain his guest. That was a much more comfortable word for both of them; 'guest' instead of 'patient.' "I hope you have everything you need."

Malfoy nodded, and reached for another scone. "I don't like the blueberry ones as much," he critiqued after a hesitant bite.

"Yeah, me neither," Harry replied.

The ensuing silence stretched uncomfortably long. Harry shifted in his seat, but Malfoy seemed quite unperturbed, not venturing any more comments. Eventually, when he couldn't stand the awkwardness anymore, he cleared his throat. "Well. I have work tomorrow, so I best be heading off. I'll send Kreacher up with breakfast in the morning... what time do you want it?"

"Eight o'clock would be preferable."

"Right. Eight it is. Good. Well, goodnight then," Harry said, going to the door. He waited a moment, just the briefest of pauses, to allow Malfoy to say 'goodnight' in return. The Slytherin didn't; as he pulled the door closed Harry wondered why he'd expected anything different.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry, true to his word, sent Kreacher with the breakfast tray at eight a.m. sharp. The Gryffindor himself stuck his head in once, just before leaving for work, to tell Malfoy that's where he was off to, and to call on Kreacher if he needed anything.

The previous evening, Harry had thought about it, and decided that if Malfoy was determined to be miserable and unhelpful, there wasn't much Harry could do about it. The best course would be to leave Malfoy to his own devices while he healed, and then, without lingering bonds of pity or kindness or whatever was motivating him at this moment, Harry could happily see the back of his nemesis.

Still, there was a nagging sense of duty that he couldn't shake off, even as he stepped into his office. He was grateful to Ron for not immediately jumping down his throat about the Malfoy issue again, until he realized why that was: both of their desks were inundated with sheets of parchment, owing to the capture and subsequent testimonies of the Death Eaters in the past few days.

So Harry was caught up in a flurry of paperwork that day, filling out Forms A through ZZZ and running to this, that, and the other office getting proper documentation and filing done. The business side of his job, with the tedious repetition of the same answers and information over and over again, really got to him some days, but at least he was a more diligent worker and better able to budget his time than he'd been at school.

Another benefit was that he didn't have to see Robards at all that day, even though they were both in the office the entire time. Robards was his boss, so Harry held a certain amount of respect for him, but that amount was quickly diminishing. For the raven-haired man, Robards served as the epitome of what was wrong with the Ministry as he'd known it, all caught up in bureaucratic procedure and furthering pure-blood power based on how the money flowed. Harry dearly hoped that the staffing changes Kingsley was making would soon extend to this department.

Harry did manage to duck out for a lunch break. He didn't sit with Hermione, who was caught up in her own work (Ron did, though, when he left an hour later), but it was also nice to just be by himself and relax a little bit.

Then, he made a point of popping over to the temporary holding cell where the Death Eater he'd apprehended, by the name of Francis Witherbellings, was waiting. With the Dementors in the process of vacating Azkaban, the transferring of criminals was a tad slower than usual, but the final result- a Dementor-free jail- was well worth the wait, in Harry's mind.

Francis seemed to agree; the first thing he asked, in a pretty panicked voice, was about the timeframe for handing him over to those monsters. He was so grateful when Harry explained the situation that he gladly answered all of Harry's questions, and then some. As he'd suspected, the man hadn't even gotten the Mark; he had only just joined a few weeks before Voldemort's demise, out of fear for his and his family's lives, and went on the run out of equal shame and fear afterwards, turning only to those he knew wouldn't think poorly of him: fellow D.E.s.

The man seemed genuinely good, just a little misguided at times, and Harry vowed, privately of course, to put in a good word for him at some point before the trial. He hoped the sentence wouldn't be too harsh, at any rate. Everyone needed to move on from this ordeal.

Harry's day was so busy that he almost missed the missive Ginny sent him at lunch; her impatient owl Florina had dropped it hastily on the desk and left, leaving the note to get buried, literally, in reams of paperwork.

He discovered it eventually, at half-past five, and was forced to dash out the door immediately to go see his girlfriend for the date she'd set up at a nearby restaurant. He Apparated to a secluded street and then hurried to the place, a cozy little cafe near Charing Cross.

It was a Muggle establishment, and her choice illustrated perfectly one of the many things he loved about Ginny: her understanding of him. She knew that he wouldn't want to be bombarded with well-wishers and press members, and so she'd chosen a quiet place off the beaten path.

He sprinted in the door, decidedly unkempt, but thankfully in Muggle attire; he habitually kept an outfit or two at the office, in case he needed to quickly blend in in a Muggle crowd, and had amazingly had the presence of mind to grab it as he left.

His shirt wasn't completely buttoned, though, and his hair was even more unruly than usual, so he blushed profusely when he spotted Ginny, looking wonderful in a modest plaid dress, waving him over.

She smiled cheerily, took a sip of her soda, and then stood up to greet him.

"Sorry I'm late," Harry panted, breathless. "We got swamped with paperwork, and-"

"It's alright. Relax," she soothed, taking it upon herself to do up Harry's remaining buttons. He flushed more and gratefully sank into the chair across from her.

"So. Hi," he said, grinning goofily.

"Hi," she replied, mirthful.

"How was your day, then?" he inquired.

"Really, really fantastic, Harry! But, I'd like to get to that later, if that's alright with you."

Harry nodded. At that precise moment, the waitress arrived to take their orders, and soon the conversation had launched into much more interesting, deep topics befitting two people who'd been dating for nearly three years.

Harry had a great time, as usual when Ginny was involved. She laughed easily, still as fiery and sassy as she'd been in her latter Hogwarts years. Sometimes, he still got amazed at his luck. Something of this must have showed on his face, for Ginny smiled warmly at him, yet with a hint of sorrow. "Oh, Harry."

"What's the matter, Gin?" he said, alarmed. His mind began whirring through possible calamities, but none seemed particularly likely.

"I don't know how to say this, Harry," she said, dropping her voice. "But, I got an owl from Gwenog Jones yesterday. She wants to sign me!" Her voiced trilled with unbridled excitement.

"Really! Wow, that's fantastic, Ginny! Congratulations!" He jumped up and crossed over to hug her, but she hadn't joined in his happy exclamation.

"Isn't it? It's what I've always wanted, my dream... Chaser for the Harpies!" She allowed herself to beam fully for a moment, and then it slowly sank off of her face. "I'm set to leave tomorrow night for training camp, and then I'm slated to start actually playing sometime mid-season."

"So, what's the issue, Ginny? You should be ecstatic."

She smiled sadly, and did rise from her chair then, to grasp his hand. "Harry. Training lasts for several weeks, and then I'll be traveling all over for matches and things. And, well, it's going to put quite a strain on our relationship. You know how hard it was when I was at school, we barely managed."

"Ginny..." Harry said slowly, uncomprehendingly. "Are you, are you breaking it off with me?"

"Oh, Harry," she sobbed, flinging her arms around him. "I love you, I really do. But I think it's for the best if we just take a little break, temporarily, okay? Until I get more accustomed to the hectic pace and everything... plus I'm sure I'll be so stressed out that I won't be very fun to be around anyway."

"Ginny," Harry said, stroking her hair. It was decidedly awkward doing this in a public place; other guests were watching them with fascination. "I think you're always fun to be around. _Especially_ when you're cranky," he added, and his tone caused her to pause briefly to hit him lightly on the arm, blinking back tears.

"Harry..."

"It's okay, Ginny," he said, cupping her chin. "Really. I understand. It's like sixth year, when I did the same thing. I didn't want to, not by a long shot, but it was the _right_ thing, the best thing. I'm okay if you are."

"Harry!" she cried, collapsing into his arms again. "You really are amazing."

He certainly didn't _feel_ amazing at that moment; he felt decidedly _un_amazing with his heart being ripped out of his chest. He knew, logically, that what he'd said was true, but try telling that to his emotions. But he would support her; that's what love was about, supporting the other person's decisions, like Ginny'd done for him.

"So are you, Gin. Merlin, you're going to be great," he whispered, flooding his tone with warmth. "I just know it. You deserve this."

She pulled out of the hug to beam at him. He resisted the urge to sweep her up and kiss her; that type of thing wouldn't do now that they were technically on a break. Ginny seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for she backed away even further and twirled her foot awkwardly.

"Yeah, well," Harry said, grimacing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Erm, you probably have lots to do, to get ready, so..."

"Yeah..." she trailed off, biting her lip. After a pause, she whispered "Why does this have to be so hard?"

Harry smiled in sympathy, but couldn't think of an appropriate answer, because his head was filled with a mantra. _This isn't good-bye, not really. She'll be back. Soon. This isn't really good-bye..._

Ginny shouldered her bag and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Make sure you show up to the first match, alright? I'll send you tickets and everything."

He tried to hide the quavering in his voice when he replied "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

xxxx xxxx

He managed to make it home before giving in to his grief, Ginny's question 'why does it have to be so hard?' ringing in his head. Love really sucked sometimes.

He greeted Kreacher half-heartedly; the elf looked indignant for a second before noting Harry's expression. "Master Harry, what is wrong?"

"I'm okay, Kreacher. Just need some time by myself," he said, voice determinedly level. The elf looked doubtful, but didn't comment as he took Harry's cloak and hung it up.

Harry, meanwhile, tramped up the stairs loudly, not caring about the noise. He blinked back tears, waiting to get to his bedroom and the solitude it provided before letting them leak out.

He pushed open the door and kicked off his shoes angrily. Looking up, he jumped about a foot. Malfoy was sitting in the window seat, and had turned to face Harry as he entered.

He had completely forgotten about Malfoy in the emotional whirlwind that was his day. Now, he remembered that he'd given up the master bedroom to his guest. He hurriedly brushed the tears away, pretending to be itching his nose. "Sorry," he mumbled, not looking up. "I kinda forgot... I'll go now. Sorry," he said again.

Malfoy's voice stopped him in the process of turning away. "This is your room, isn't it? You stay here, and I'll go somewhere else." He stood up with only a slight grimace from the pain in his ribs.

Harry blinked, surprised by the offer. He certainly hadn't been expecting anything resembling kindness. "No, it's alright. Thank you, though," he added, managing a small smile.

"It's only proper manners," Malfoy said dismissively, studiously looking out the window again. Harry caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror; he really did look awful.

"Still. I appreciate it. I haven't had the best day," he said dryly, frowning at his reflection again.

"I gathered that, funnily enough," Malfoy replied, but without malice. In fact, if Harry didn't know any better, he could've sworn there was something like warmth there.

"Yeah, well," Harry shrugged helplessly. He rubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to break out of his daze. "I hope your day was better, at least."

"Yes," he said simply, and then grimaced again and sank back down to the seat.

"Do they still hurt badly? I can get Kreacher to whip up another potion."

"No, it's tolerable," Malfoy said.

"You're sure? It's no trouble." Harry found himself latching onto his role as caregiver, because in it he could be detached from himself and thus from the heartache.

"I'm quite sure, thank you." He was staring out the window again.

Harry, curious, crossed the room to join him. He followed Malfoy's gaze to the ground, where there was somehow an alleyway. Harry was quite amazed that he'd never noticed it before; it was feature of the house's magic, clearly, yet in the year-and-change he'd lived here he'd failed to give the window more than the perfunctory glance needed to determine the weather.

In the alleyway was a small litter of kittens, four fluffy puff balls frolicking around, while their mother looked on. In spite of himself, Harry quirked a small smile at the adorable, happy scene.

"Delightful, aren't they?" Malfoy asked quietly, eyes never leaving the gambolling babies.

"Yeah."

After a pause, Malfoy spoke again. "If it's any consolation, Potter, you don't deserve whatever happened to make you so upset."

Now Harry was too shocked to defend Ginny, or to say anything. What had gotten into Malfoy? Where was this gratitude coming from, this softness? Maybe the kittens had a calming effect on him. Then, with a sudden flash, Harry remembered the confrontation last night, the defeated tone. _"You win, Potter... I'm so tired..."_

"Are you, er, alright?" he asked awkwardly.

Malfoy took a huge, sighing breath. "Not entirely, no. But as well as could be expected."

He spoke so stiffly, rigidly controlling every word that came out of his mouth. It was a bit disconcerting for Harry, who was used to speaking candidly. "Er, right... did Kreacher get you dinner yet?"

"Yes. Minestrone."

"Ouch, I'm sorry," said Harry. Minestrone was not one of Kreacher's best recipes, by any means. "Can I get you anything else? We have more scones."

"No, thank you. I would join you in a cup of tea, if you were planning to have one."

"Sure." Harry shrugged, and excused himself from the room, ostensibly to get the tea, but it was really designed to give him some time to calm his nerves and recover his center. He may have cheated a little in taking a swig of green tea infused with holly bark (which worked on him as an almost instant relaxant), but when he returned a few minutes later he was back in one piece, if only just barely.

Malfoy had moved again, and was now sitting at the desk against the far wall. Harry sat both cups down and conjured a second chair for himself. If a bit rickety, it did the trick.

Malfoy had taken out the tea bag almost immediately; he apparently liked very light tea if he didn't want it to steep longer. "So, you seem to be moving about better," Harry remarked.

"Quite. The bruising and swelling have gone down considerably."

"That's great news," Harry said, and took a sip of his tea. Still not strong enough.

"Mhmm," Malfoy said, through a mouthful of tea, and then looked oddly sheepish, as if he'd been rude.

"How's your wrist?"

"Much the same, unfortunately."

"Yeah. Not really much you can do for sprains. It just has to run its natural course. Be easy on it for a while."

"I will be," Malfoy responded, resolutely sipping. He seemed to regret suggesting this, and thus determined to finish as quickly as possible. Harry, on the other hand, found the conversation, stilted as it was, a welcome distraction.

"Good." He took another small sip, and found that it had finally become acceptable. "Do you like the tea?"

Malfoy nodded this time, now almost to the bottom of his cup. "Um... what's your favorite kind of tea?"

"Favorite kind of tea?" Malfoy repeated, raising an eyebrow; he couldn't help reacting to that. "My favorite kind of _tea_? Really, Potter, that's the best you could come up with?"

"I don't see you making an effort," he snapped. "Sorry. Just tired. Mine's black tea," he added after a pause.

"And yet we're drinking green," Malfoy commented. Then, he admitted, almost grudgingly, "I prefer oolong tea."

Harry nodded, and there were several more silent sips. For now, it seemed the conversation ground to a halt. But there was somehow slightly less awkwardness now, a tiny, burgeoning bubble of what could only be called familiarity.

xxxx xxxx

That night, predictably, Harry couldn't sleep. It didn't help that he was in an unfamiliar bed, Draco still occupying the master, but the primary reason was, of course, Ginny, and the distinct lack of her he'd be facing for the next who knows how many months.

After three cups of green tea failed to relax him sufficiently, he gave it up as a bad job and took to roaming the halls, lost in thoughts and reminisces. One such reminisce was halted by an odd noise emanating from one of the room on this floor.

He had to snap out of it recognize that this floor was the second one, and the door in question was the one to the master bedroom. Frowning, Harry tiptoed over and gently pushed it open; it didn't creak. The noise turned out to be Malfoy whimpering, curled up in a tight ball on the bed, shivering.

The sight, pitiful as it was, pulled at Harry's heartstrings, but he couldn't decide whether to wake the blonde up or not; he needed sleep for healing. After a brief moment of indecision, he retreated down the stairs to the kitchen.

A short while later, he returned to sit a cup of oolong tea on the nightstand.

**Sorry the chapter wasn't that interesting, but I had to take care of the Ginny issue, because Harry wouldn't have cheated on her. **


	6. Chapter 6

After his nighttime tea excursion, Harry managed to wrack up a few hours of sleep, and some extra minutes too by refusing breakfast. He'd steal a doughnut or two from Ron when he got to the office. Malfoy was still asleep when he left for work; he liked to arrive early on Fridays to ensure he had enough time to finish his caseload before the weekend set in.

In contrast to the previous day, Harry's Friday was pretty slow. He'd completed all his files by eleven, even with a doughnut break, and now sat idly tapping his wand on his desk to change the color ink on his nameplate.

Ron, across the room, snorted when it turned neon pink and began flashing. Harry did the mature thing and made Ron's whole cloak maroon.

After grumbling for a minute as he righted the item, Ron sat down heavily. "I'm glad to see you're doing okay, mate."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, thanks," Harry said listlessly. He had been hoping to avoid bringing up the Ginny Thing (its severity now warranted capital letters), but as usual with Ron and his tactlessness, those plans were foiled.

The red-head frowned. "You _are_ doing okay, aren't you? Like, you're not going to go do anything stupid, are you?"

"Ron," said Harry seriously. "I'm fine."

"Alright, alright, just checking. Up for a game of Wizard's Chess?"

That managed to entertain them for a good forty-five minutes before an especially excited outburst from Harry (his pawn somehow managed to subdue Ron's knight) brought Robards into the room to ruin their fun. He sent Ron off with a humungous stack of inter-departmental memos.

Harry, dwelling on the unfairness of his own lack of punishment, daydreamed of several amusing pranks to use on his boss. He then took the opportunity to answer some letters; Neville was enjoying his Herbology apprenticeship, Teddy missed him (said Andromeda), and he couldn't be sure but it seemed as if Luna had met someone on her latest magizoology expedition.

Bored again, he cast his eyes around the office, and spotted a dark green file poking out of a stack on Ron's desk. His best mate was eternally messy. At any rate, dark green signified a Death Eater past, and Harry naturally went over to see whose folder it was; surely he hadn't forgotten a case!

It turned out to be Draco Malfoy's file. Harry shook his head at Ron's candor, pulling the record without authorization. Would his friend ever learn to let that schoolboy grudge go? However, Harry's own curiosity was peaked, and he figured it wouldn't do any harm to glance over it.

He flipped it open to reveal Malfoy's mug shot; he looked nearly as haggard then as he had just that morning. The rest of the page contained various vital statistics- height, weight, blood type, all of that jazz. He eagerly flipped the page.

This was when Ron waltzed in and immediately started on his anti-Robards tirade. Harry hurriedly replaced the folder on the desk and spun to listen; thankfully, Ron hadn't seen anything.

"That bloody wanker!" Ron shouted. Harry smiled wryly and settled in for the show.

xxxx xxxx

Harry opened the door to Grimmauld Place with a sigh. Try as he might, he couldn't convince Ron to go to his own house and eat there. Harry rather thought that his best mate was missing his sister a lot more than he let on (she'd taken to sleeping over at Ron and Hermione's since it was closer to her rookie team's practice pitch), and needed the company himself. Hermione was no doubt up to her eyeballs in research; she'd elected to defend Rogers in court and needed to scrounge up more evidence.

So, he let himself and his friend into the hallway. "Kreacher, I'm home. I brought Ron with me."

Kreacher came puttering around the corner. "Master Harry, Master Weasley," he croaked, with a little bow in Ron's direction. Ron, unlike Harry, liked the sound of his last name after the prefix 'Master' and so decided to let Kreacher keep calling him that. And he also refused to ask Kreacher to stop bowing, as Hermione and Harry both would've preferred.

"Hullo, Kreacher," Ron greeted, handing his cloak to the aged elf. "What've you got for us today?"

"Kreacher is making brisket, sir."

"Fantastic!" Ron shouted, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Harry smiled fondly at his friend's antics. Some things never changed. "So, where's the little git at now?"

It didn't take any time at all for Harry to realize whom Ron was talking about. "He's got a name you know, Ron, don't call him that. He's upstairs, resting."

Ron looked slightly disappointed. "Oh. Well, okay. He wasn't planning on joining us for dinner, was he?"

"I don't think so. Would it matter if he did?"

Ron gave Harry a patronizing look. He'd picked that particular expression up from Hermione, and it didn't suit him at all. Harry couldn't help but smirk. "Honestly, Harry? You ask me that? What's he done to you?"

"Nothing, Ron, I'm fine. What's he done to _you_? You know what, don't answer that," Harry added weakly. He knew there was no way his friend was going to accept Malfoy's presence, so there was nothing for it but to make sure they stayed separate. "Anyway, I'm gonna go change out of these work robes. Make yourself at home."

Harry bounded up the steps as Ron wandered off into the kitchens. He rapped softly on Malfoy's door. "Come in," he called from within.

"Hey," said Harry. "Just got in. Ron's staying for dinner, I dunno if you want to-"

"Oh god, no," he said scathingly, and then tensed. "Sorry. But, no, I'm alright here."

"You're sure?" Malfoy nodded, and Harry shrugged.

"Make sure I actually get some food, will you? Weasley is sure to eat more than his fair share," the blonde said petulantly.

"He does not!" Harry said automatically. The instant he did he recognized it had been a reflex, and there was some truth in Malfoy's words. But certainly not in the disparaging tone he used. And it had come on so suddenly, with no warning... he guessed Ron's feelings were entirely mutual. "Even if he did, that's no excuse to be rude."

Malfoy shrugged indifferently. "You wouldn't have anything to read, would you?"

There was that superior tone that Harry so despised. He roughly grabbed a fresh shirt from one of his drawers. "Why don't you go look in library? I'm sure there's enough Dark stuff in there to entertain you for a few hours," he bit back angrily. As he slammed the door behind him, he could have sworn he saw Malfoy's face fall.

The next second, he convinced himself that he'd imagined it; surely he must've. At any rate, the library was up one floor, putting Malfoy further out of Ron's way. Although whether it was a good idea to send a Death Eater into a room filled with Dark objects (he hadn't gotten around to cleaning out the library. Or any part of the house really...) was yet to be seen.

Shrugging the thought off, Harry rejoined Ron in the kitchen, where the brisket had just been served. While Ron filled his plate, Harry quietly instructed Kreacher to bring up a portion for Malfoy. The elf arranged a little bit of everything- brisket, carrots, rolls- onto the plate and began the trek upstairs.

The meal turned out to be really enjoyable, with lots of laughing and joking and general levity. Ron shared that George had finally found someone to help him in the shop, though personally he doubted if the poor bloke could handle it.

"George wouldn't have hired him if he didn't see potential," Harry declared, cutting a slice of pie. Kreacher had managed to whip up a small blackberry one during the main course; Harry had never asked, but he was pretty sure the elf used his own brand of magic to speed up the cooking time.

"Yeah, but he was getting pretty desperate, wasn't he?" Ron said, and took a large bite of pie.

"Maybe. But I still think he'd be careful in who he hired; that shop is his -and Fred's- legacy."

Ron's mouth drooped into a slight frown at the mention of his brother. It was actually a better reaction than a few months ago, when he would shatter whatever he was holding. "Yeah, guess so," he said gloomily. Harry wordlessly passed him some more pie.

"Kreacher," Harry called, seeing the elf walking past the door. He stopped and stuck his head in. "Could you go and ask Malfoy if he wants any pie?"

Kreacher bowed in acquiescence (Harry resisted the urge to comment; the elf was mad about some slight and did it to make him uncomfortable. Despite the good feelings he now had for Harry, he was still a tetchy little thing sometimes.) and waddled quickly away.

"What are you offering it to him for?"

"Dunno. 'Cuz it's polite, I guess. He is a guest."

"And when do you plan on kicking him out, then?" Ron said.

"I don't know; I hadn't thought about it. He's still healing, Ron, I can't just turn him out on the streets."

"Why not? He'd do it to you in a heartbeat."

"Because it's not right," Harry said, with a resigned sigh.

"Look, mate, I get the whole nobility thing. That's great. But this is _Malfoy_. He doesn't deserve it." He punctuated this comment by shoveling the last bit of pie into his mouth.

"Maybe if I treat him nicely, he'll do the same for me. We never tried that in school."

"'Cuz he was a right git in school! And I for one don't know that he's changed."

"Ron, just give it a rest, okay? He's going to stay until he's well, and that's my decision."

"Fine," he said sourly. "You could at least charge him or something."

"I'm not _charging him_ for showing up, half-dead on my doorstep! I don't care about money anyway; I've got what I need."

"Well, he should at least do _something_. Now he's just a bloody freeloader, mooching off of your stuff."

"Ron," said Harry warningly.

"Alright, alright, I'll drop it. But think about it, Harry. You're putting yourself at risk, and not even getting anything out of it."

"I really do appreciate your concern, Ron, but I've got this under control. Can't you trust me on this?"

"Yeah," he said, suddenly serious. "'Course I trust you. Don't agree with you, but I trust you."

"Thanks," Harry said.

At that the clock chimed eight, and Ron jumped a bit. "Wow, that late already? I should probably be getting home; 'Mione's expecting me to be there to hear about her research, maybe help her out a little. Fascinating, I'm sure."

Harry stood to lead his friend out. "You know you love it."

"Yeah... Blimey, she's gotten to me, Harry! She's really gotten to me!" he said, good-naturedly.

"Bye," Harry said cheerily. "Tell her I said hello."

"Sure. See you Monday." And with that and a quick wave Ron had turned on the spot and vanished. Harry closed the door with a quiet snap and returned to the kitchen to gather up the dishes. Since he was there anyway, he figured he'd wash them, too, and give Kreacher a bit of a break.

With that done, he ascended the stairs again to check in on Malfoy, briefly. In retrospect, there really hadn't been a need to get so short-tempered with him, and now the Gryffindor felt bad. The Slytherin wasn't in the library, so that meant he was probably sulking in the bedroom.

Sure enough, when he arrived, he found Kreacher waiting for him. "Master Malfoy says he is very tired, sir, and respectfully asks that Master Harry allow him to sleep."

"Oh... well, alright, if that's what he wants."

"Master Harry does not believe Master Malfoy. Kreacher can tell; Master is very easy to read, yes. But Master Malfoy did look ill to Kreacher."

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said, slightly forlorn. "You wanna join me for tea, then?"

He didn't really mind the elf so much anymore; the event of the battle mellowed out Harry's feelings. In fact, sometimes he was quite entertaining to talk to, especially on nights when Harry was having trouble sleeping.

Kreacher nodded his great head. "Yes, Master Harry."


	7. Chapter 7

**The last chapter was probably fairly boring for you all (not to mention rather lacking in Harry and Draco interaction), and I apologize. But the plot must march on... **

**As a "thank you" for your patience, I've put this one up, too! Hope you enjoy :)**

**-AmayaSora  
**

The morning found Harry seated at the kitchen table, reading the _Prophet_ and picking at a piece of toast. Minister Shacklebolt had begun his investigations into the Games and Sports Department, as part of his 'fundamental restructuring of the Ministry, to make it more representative of the entire Magical community.' The man had done some good work, and Harry hoped the voters who so overwhelmingly elected him realized that.

As he turned the page, the sound of the door opening caught his attention, and he looked up to find Malfoy standing there. Immediately he assessed that the man was feeling better; he'd made it all the way down the stairs, for one. For another, some color (what little there was to begin with) was starting to reenter his cheeks. He stood tall, rigid even, none of the hunching over his ribs from days past.

There was something else different, too, and it took Harry a second to realize it was his hair. He had it slicked back now, firmly in place. Yesterday it had been significantly looser, and the first two days had been allowed to hang freely around his face. This was a look much more reminiscent of the familiar Hogwarts Malfoy.

"Oh, hello," Harry said cheerily, putting down his paper. "I was just going to let you sleep; you were so tired last night."

"Thank you," Malfoy said curtly, not shifting his rigid stance.

"There's toast and marmalade if you'd like, or I can see if Kreacher will fry some eggs, or sausage."

"I'm quite alright, thank you."

"That's good. Er, do you wanna sit down?" Harry said, beginning to be unnerved by Malfoy's demeanor.

The blonde crossed the room and sank down into a chair, still holding his back straight and tall. Now, though, Harry caught the brief, subtle change in the set of his mouth that showed his ribs weren't one hundred percent right. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm feeling much better now."

"Good." Harry began pulling apart the crust from his toast. "You still need to take it slow for a bit; the healing's not completely done."

"I am aware of that, thank you," he said stiffly.

"Are you sure you're alright? Is there anything I can get you?"

"I would like to pay you for allowing me to lodge here," Malfoy said without preamble.

"What?"

"You are giving me houseroom and three square meals a day. I'm grateful, and I'd like to repay you."

"That's no trouble at all."

"No, I insist."

Suddenly, it hit Harry. "You heard what Ron said last night, didn't you? Look, don't listen to him. We've discussed it- not that it's really any of his business- and it's really fine. I'm not expecting anything from you; I just did this because it was the right thing to do, you know."

Malfoy smiled, but it was forced and empty. "Thank you for your assurance, but I would really like to pay you. I... you..." Malfoy struggled to find the words, and as he did the mask slipped and he began to hunch a little, to show actual emotion in his voice and face. "Honor is, is so important, Potter. It's the single most important thing a family can have, honor. And part of that is not accepting things for free. We work to use what we have to get things, use our resources. Not other people's. We don't take handouts when we can provide for ourselves."

Reading between the lines, and relying on his past experience with Malfoy, Harry deduced that this was some sort of pride thing, that being helped like this, by someone he considered an enemy, was torture for Malfoy's pride. And, of course, he was too proud to admit that outright. There were several replies whizzing through Harry's mind, but he settled for one he thought would be the least offensive to said pride. "What about gifts? Gifts aren't handouts; consider this a gift of hospitality."

"No, Potter, it doesn't work like that!" Malfoy was getting agitated. "This is much more like a favor, helping someone out of a tight spot. And favors have to be repaid, and I intend to do that."

"They don't have to be repaid immediately," Harry reasoned.

"Honestly, Potter, when I'm healed, when will I get the opportunity to do so? I've got to do it now."

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, fine, you win."

Malfoy smiled faintly. "Excellent. How much do I owe you?"

"What, oh, I dunno... whatever you want." Harry didn't care one lick how much he got. He'd probably go donate it to St. Mungo's anyway.

"Again, that isn't how it works. You set a definite amount, otherwise we'll never be sure the debt is fully repaid."

There were apparently some complicated rules to things like this, unless Malfoy was making it up. Harry wracked his brains to find a reasonable sum, but something that flashed across Malfoy's face for the barest of seconds make him pause. If Malfoy was in a state like that and came to _him_ instead of a hospital, was there something going on with his funds? Harry frowned, worried now about draining resources.

In a sudden flash of inspiration, he smiled triumphantly. "Does it have to be money? The payment, I mean? Or could you repay it by doing some things for me?"

"I... I don't see any reason for that not to work," he said, trying but failing to hide the relief in his voice.

"Right. Well, I've been meaning to fix this place up a bit, but haven't gotten around to it. So, you could do some of that for me. Just, whatever you feel up to doing, and however much you can get done until you're well enough to leave. And that's as definitive as I'm going to get, so there's no use pushing me to specify some arbitrary amount of labor."

"Seems reasonable," Malfoy said evenly, and held out his hand to shake. Harry grasped it. Something in the back of his head presented this as an uncommon parallel to that first train ride, but he shook it off.

Malfoy might have thought the same thing, for their eyes locked for the briefest of seconds, and they mutually nodded, Harry resolutely, Malfoy with only a small motion, timid.

"So. Breakfast?" The brunette asked, gesturing to the table.

"Sure," Malfoy replied, and allowed himself a little smile.

xxxx xxxx

The two men stood in the dining room about two hours later. Harry had given Malfoy a tour of relevant rooms of the house; now that he was up and moving it seemed best that he know where things were. Some level of awkwardness had evaporated after the handshake; Harry was strongly reminded of Dumbledore and the lesson he himself had echoed years ago: there was incomparable power in certain acts.

Now, Harry was explaining to Malfoy what the repairs to the dining room would entail. Although it'd been started during the war, in the interim Harry hadn't spent much time in there to see that progress continued. In fact, part of the reason he'd lingered in the room was to formulate a list for himself of the work that needed to be done.

"So, carpet first then?" Harry asked.

"It's as good a place as any to start," Malfoy said, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

"I think some Scourgifying Charms would probably work, but you're welcome to do whatever you think you need to." Malfoy nodded grimly, steeling himself for a task he so obviously found repellant. "You really don't have to do this, you know."

"Potter," Malfoy said, annoyed.

"Alright, alright, I'm done," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "If you're okay here, I'm going to be in the kitchen doing some paperwork."

"Yes, I'm perfectly capable of handling this myself, thank you," he said testily.

Harry took a brief second to glare at Malfoy before following through and descending to the kitchen.

xxxx xxxx

An hour and a half later, Harry put down his quill, stretched heavily, and skimmed over his completed report. It turned out that he'd overlooked this particular one at the office yesterday (which probably explained why he'd had so little to do). He should do a real proofread, he knew, but it never mattered; Robards would praise a parchment with a cake recipe written on it as long as it had Harry's name at the top.

Sighing, Harry decided to go check in on Malfoy's progress. Upon entering the dining room, he found the Slytherin on his hands and knees (well, one hand and knees; the splinted left hand still wasn't ready to take that kind of strain), scrubbing frantically.

"Malfoy?" he asked, confused.

The blonde jumped up. "Potter. Your paperwork went well, then?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "What were you doing on the floor?"

"Cleaning the carpet, as you requested," he said, and the faintest pink blush crept onto his cheeks.

"I said you could use Scourgifying Charms. You don't have to crawl around like that."

"No, this is fine, really," he stammered in a most uncharacteristic way.

"Uh huh, not buying it," said Harry bluntly. "Come on, Malfoy, what's up?"

"Nothing. I just happen to like cleaning manually. That a crime now, is it, Potter?" he said, eyes narrowing.

"You used to be better at lying than that," Harry commented dryly. "If this is some kind of, of, self-inflicted punishment, Malfoy, I don't want anything to do with it."

"It most certainly is not," he said, affronted, eyes flashing.

"Right then. Well, go on and use the Scourgifying Charm from now on, okay? You'll hurt yourself again."

"I think I'm well aware of what my own limits are, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you sure proved _that_ your first two days here," he said sarcastically. "You... you do know _how_ to do a Scourgifying Charm, don't you?" Harry didn't know why, but he found it strangely exhilarating to bicker with Malfoy, like in the old days. However, he made sure to keep any real malice or scorn out of his voice, keeping the tone just on this side of playful. They weren't enemies anymore.

"Of course I do, Potter. I could do a Scourgifying Charm before you could walk."

"Let's see it then," he said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. Inexplicably, Malfoy became panicked, eyes darting around the room wildly, looking for some way out. Harry was alarmed. "It's ok, you don't re-"

"_Scourgify!_" Malfoy yelled, cutting off Harry's apology, and a stream of bubbles came pouring out of his wand, only to start sputtering after only a second and eventually trailing off completely. "Happy now, Potter?" He spat. "Now you've proved how _weak_ and _helpless_ I am?"

"Malfoy..." said Harry slowly, stunned. He hadn't expected this. "That's not what I meant. I was just egging you on a bit, that's all. I didn't mean... I didn't _want_... I'm sorry," he finished helplessly, but Malfoy was turned resolutely away from him.

"What happened to your wand?" Harry ventured timidly after a moment of incredibly awkward silence.

"Cracked," Malfoy replied in a hollow sort of voice. "How did you know?" he asked, turning around, it seemed, in spite of himself.

"I've seen you do much more complicated spells than that." Harry responded. He had also remembered the blotchy wetness of the bandages wrapped around Malfoy's chest after his shower, and how he'd thought an improper _Impervius_ had been cast.

"Yes, well," Malfoy sighed, and his shoulders sank in defeat. "There you are, then. I'll just continue on my way here. The Muggle way..." he added bitterly.

Suddenly, Harry had a flash of genius. "Wait right there!" he yelled, dashing up the stairs in his excitement. He flung open the door to one of the spare rooms (the one he and Ron had shared back when Sirius was still alive) and plunged into one of the dresser drawers, rifling hastily. At last, his hand clasped around a familiar-feeling cylinder, and then emerged clutching a dark wand. He sprinted back down the stairs.

"Here," he held it out, panting a bit. "It's yours anyway, from the Battle. Never got a chance to give it back to you."

"You... kept my wand?" Malfoy asked, incredulous.

"Well, yeah," said Harry sheepishly. "So many things were happening at once and I got caught up in a bunch of stuff, and never got around to sending it back to you. Guess it's a good thing, now..." Malfoy was staring at the hawthorne wand in something like awe. "Go on, take it. It's yours."

Malfoy tentatively reached out, and a look of pure joy flooded his face as wand and master were reunited. The tip of the wand glowed softly.

Harry smiled at seeing the childlike wonder and elation on Malfoy's face. It was the first truly happy expression he'd seen on him. Malfoy then proceeded to make small sparks of multicolored light shoot out of the tip, entranced by the colors.

Abruptly, he seemed to remember Harry was there, and stopped dead, hurriedly flinging his arm down to his side. It was his left arm, Harry noticed; how could it be that he'd known the man for seven years and never before realized that he was left-handed?

Another blush painted Malfoy's cheeks a pale pink. "I really can't begin to express how grateful..." Malfoy's voice trailed away for a moment, before he finally said "Wow... thank you," and with such heart that it nearly overwhelmed Harry.

He replied with an earnest "You're welcome."

Malfoy's eyes flashed up for the briefest of seconds to lock with Harry's, before he turned away and cleared his throat. "Now, as to the matter at hand..._ Scourgify!_" he cried, brandishing his wand at a large swath of carpet. The flow of bubbles was strong and steady this time, and they floated to the carpet, foamed up a bit, and vanished, taking the dirt and stains with them. Malfoy smiled delightedly.

Harry pulled his own wand out of his pocket. _"Scourgify!"_ he, too, said, and repeated the process. Malfoy looked at him sideways, but otherwise didn't comment.

So, the pair spent the rest of the morning cleaning not only the carpet, but the glass cases and curtains, too, the latter of which Draco also repaired with a handy spell he said he'd learned from his mother.

At quarter past noon, Kreacher came bustling in with a tray of sandwiches. "Lunch for Masters," he said with a bow.

"Thanks, Kreacher," said Harry, whose stomach had just then informed him that it was famished. He made to grab a sandwich, but stopped short and looked over his shoulder at Malfoy. "Why don't we go eat downstairs in the kitchen?"

"Sure," the blonde replied with another genuine smile. He opened the door for Harry as the latter exited the room holding the tray of food over Kreacher's protests.

"It's really okay, Kreacher. I got this. You can go visit Mrs. Black, if you like."

The little elf's eyes lit up, and he thanked Harry graciously before ambling away through the halls.

"Mrs. Black?" Malfoy questioned as they descended the stairs.

"Yeah. Grimmauld Place is the Blacks' ancestral home."

"Sirius was the one who left it to you, then?"

"Mhmm," Harry said, walking into the kitchen and placing the tray on the table there. "What'll you have to drink?"

"Water is fine," Malfoy said airly, waving a hand. He sat down in one of the chairs. "I forgot to thank Kreacher for bringing me the oolong tea the other night," he said conversationally.

"Oh, er," said Harry, returning with a glass of water and a cup of pumpkin juice. "That was me, actually. You'd said it was your favorite."

"Oh," Malfoy took a sip of water. "Thank _you_, then."

"No problem," said Harry with a grin. After they'd each taken a sandwich and a few bites thereof, he inquired, "How are you feeling today? Your ribs and stuff, I mean."

"Tolerable. My wrist seems to be finally beginning to heal."

"That's good. How'd you hurt it, anyway?"

"I fell," he said shortly, and in a rather obvious attempt to change the subject, asked, "Why did you choose to stay here, when you could have bought a new place? It has to hold some unpleasant memories."

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. It did occur to me, but the past is the past, you know? Time to move on. Besides," he added in a much more somber tone. "This is one of the few things I have left of Sirius."

"I'm sorry," Malfoy said sincerely, and for the barest of seconds it looked like he was going to put his hand on top of Harry's, but it found another half of a sandwich instead.

"Thanks," said Harry, wondering if Malfoy was aware that the man under discussion was his cousin, and, if he was, how much that mattered to him. "Well, anyway. It still needs a bit of work, as you can tell. A bit too gloomy for my tastes."

"I quite agree," said Malfoy pleasantly. "You know, when I first woke up, I couldn't believe you actually lived here. No red or gold in sight."

"Well, gold is pretty garish," the Gryffindor replied with shrug. "Guess I wouldn't mind some deep reds, though," he cocked his head, trying to envision it.

"Not with the blue, surely," said Malfoy. "Perhaps a light cream. Or silver," he added with a smirk.

Harry grinned back cheekily. "What, not suggesting green?"

"That would be far too unsubtle of me. You need a certain amount of _finesse_ to rib people, Potter."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, grin still firmly planted on his face. He seemed unable to take it off.


	8. Chapter 8

After lunch, Malfoy went to one of the spare bedrooms to practice some spells and get reacquainted with his hawthorn wand. Harry, meanwhile, penned an entire foot-long letter to Ginny (perfectly friendly, of course). He had just called his new owl, an austere steel grey one named Oberon, over when he thought better of sending it. It would be too hard on both of them.

So, he gave Oberon some owl treats in appeasement and then chucked the letter into the fireplace, watching the edges curl and blacken as it slowly burned up.

"Who was the letter for?" came a voice from the doorway, and Harry spun to find Malfoy, who he'd momentarily forgotten was in the house at all.

"Ginny," he said evenly, and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"Your girlfriend?"

Harry smiled sadly. "Well, not technically at this moment, but..."

"Oh." Malfoy was silent for a moment. "That was what upset you the other night, wasn't it? I'm sorry."

"Thanks, but I'm alright. She got signed to the Harpies, as a Chaser. I'm so happy for her."

"But are you happy for yourself?" Malfoy asked cryptically, and before Harry could reply he sauntered away.

xxxx xxxx

Dinner was served just as the last rays of the sun disappeared below the horizon. Kreacher had been cheered significantly by his visit with the portrait of his former mistress, and demonstrated this fact by making an elaborate meal of roast duck, scalloped potatoes, steamed greens and, for desert, Harry's beloved treacle tart.

"I tell you, Kreacher, you've really outdone yourself!" said Harry, eyes widening at the sight of all those dishes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy's expression change slightly, but before he could determine what it had changed to it was back to the previous one of polite indifference.

"Thank you, Master Harry," the elf replied, wiping his brow with the tea towel he wore.

"You're welcome to have some of this, Kreacher; there's more than enough."

"No thank you, sir. Kreacher will go clean the banisters, sir, yes, Mistress prefers clean banisters."

"Alright then," Harry said with a chuckle. Seeing Malfoy's confused look, he elaborated. "There's a portrait of Sirius' mum up in one of the spare bedrooms, and Kreacher is quite fond of it. Takes orders and everything. He's not as bad as he used to be, though."

"I'd like to see her official portrait," Malfoy said, followed by taking a bite of potatoes.

"No, you wouldn't," said Harry darkly. "Well, she wouldn't mind you so much; you're pureblood. She can't stand me, or anyone else who's ever met her."

"Ah," said Malfoy delicately.

"Yeah. Charming lady," Harry finished sourly.

"As owner of the house, you are entitled to get rid of this portrait, you know."

"I know. But Kreacher would never forgive me. Besides, as long as she's off in a remote corner of the house where she won't bother anyone, it doesn't do any harm."

Malfoy shrugged elegantly and returned his attention to his dinner. "Out of curiosity, where might I find this portrait?"

"Smaller bedroom on the fourth floor."

"You didn't take me there for the tour."

"Guess I didn't. Well, there's not much up there, to be honest. Just old bedrooms that need to be emptied."

"Hmm... perhaps I could tackle that tomorrow?"

"No, it's alright. I'll do those myself. I have to decide which stuff to keep."

"Fair enough."

xxxx xxxx

That night, Draco awoke at midnight. The house was silent; despite its age it still rested firmly on the foundation and there was no shifting as the air gradually warmed. He tried to move in equal silence, which necessitated being ludicrously slow as he sat up; certain movements still aggravated his ribs, and even wincing made noise.

Making sure he had his wand firmly in his hand, he pushed open the door (he'd already learned that doors didn't creak in this house; that was yet another intriguing thing about it. Doors at the Manor had always creaked.) and tiptoed into the hallway.

He wondered which room was Harry's, now that he was occupying the makeshift master bedroom. That led him to wonder what was wrong with the actual master bedroom, and, even more importantly, why Harry had put him there in the first place. It wasn't the most convenient one by any means... perhaps it was part of his very Potter sense of fairness.

Before he knew it, Draco had arrived at his destination; the door was nondescript, but its location in the hallway showed that it was the smaller bedroom on this floor. He paused uncertainly, Harry's warning echoing dimly in the back of his head. But he brushed it off; he needed to do this, to see where he stood, make things clear for himself... _some_ things, anyway. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he pushed it open.

It had closed behind him with a snap before anything happened. There was a low sound, almost like a growl at first, and then a voice came booming out of the darkness. "Who _dares_ to enter my presence?"

Draco hurriedly lit his wand and took a step forward. "Draco Malfoy, ma'am."

"Malfoy?" the woman in the portrait said sharply, and fixed her fierce eyes on his face. "Draco Malfoy, you say? Narcissa's son?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She broke into a smile. "Draco, darling! How marvelous to see you!"

"Thank you," said Draco uncertainly.

"Now do tell me what you're doing here. Infiltrating the half-blood brat's stronghold, are you? Going to chase him out of the family house?" she spat viciously.

"No!" he assured. "No, I'm actually... something like a guest."

"A guest? _You_, a _guest_ in this house? You should own this house, Draco, not be some mere guest. He's not fit to lick your shoes, Draco, you know that."

"Do you even know him?"

"Know him? Draco, I don't need to_ know_ him. He's the brat of that blood traitor Potter and the darling of those good-for-nothing Weasleys. My filthy, shameful oaf of a son adored him. He's riffraff, scum. He's corrupted my Kreacher, nasty little thing, stolen him from me. The shame of it! And he comes here, moving my things, destroying everything this family's worked so hard to build, lets disgusting little Mudbloods and half-breeds in here all hours!" She was working herself into quite a state. "Relegating poor Regulus' room to mere storage- don't think I don't know; it's the attic after this, the little slime! Filth everywhere, it's seeping into the house, we'll never get it out, ruining everything, giving Wizarding kind a bad name-"

"He's actually done more to help Wizarding kind than anyone," Draco snapped, unable to handle the diatribe anymore.

"Oh, you think so, do you?" She said, narrowing her eyes. "Do you? You think it's all fine and dandy that Mudbloods and vermin are taking over, do you? Usurping the power of _proper_ Wizards."

"Who is to decide who is a proper Wizard?" he asked rhetorically. It was a question he'd been wrestling with himself for quite a while.

"_You_ are a proper Wizard, Draco! You, your blood's the purest there is!"

"That's all that matters, then? Blood purity again? Even after the Dark Lord-"

"The Dark Lord is a hero, Draco! A martyr to our cause! Don't you see, with him-"

"Harry was right. I shouldn't have come in here," he said icily, whirling to face the door.

"What?" He couldn't see her face, but somehow he knew it was white as a sheet. "WHAT? You shouldn't have come in here? You shouldn't have visited the rightful mistress of this house? You're one of _them! He's gotten to you!_ YOU'RE A BLOOD TRAITOR, THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE! A FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR NO BETTER THAN THE MUDBLOODS! NO WONDER POTTER TOOK YOU IN, YOU'RE WORTHLESS! YOU'RE A DISGRACE TO YOUR NAME, TO YOUR FAMILY! THEY ARE ASHAMED OF YOU, DRACO MALFOY! _ASHAMED!"_

He slammed the door hard behind him, and shaking, fell to the floor. _Disgrace to my family... blood traitor... worthless... disgrace... family would be ashamed..._ Draco couldn't hold back anymore, and gave himself over to tears.

"Malfoy?" Harry called up the steps, and the Slytherin hurried to compose himself. When Harry's head finally appeared atop the stairs, he had mostly succeeded, but he suspected there were still tear tracks visible on his cheeks.

"Did I wake you up? My apologies," Malfoy said, easing to his feet and dusting himself off (not that there was any actual dust or dirt on him; it just seemed the proper thing to do.)

"Dunno that I was actually asleep... Besides, it was her who was making the racket, not you."

"Right," he said, with half a glance at the door. "Sorry about being the cause of said racket."

"Happens," Harry said with a shrug. "I did warn you, though."

"Yes, you did. I'm sorry," he apologized again.

"You can stop apologizing, it's alright," said Harry.

Malfoy nodded grimly. "Yes. Well, considering it is the middle of the night, I propose that we head off to bed."

"Sure," said Harry. Malfoy followed him down the stairs. His ribs were throbbing; apparently crying was not good for them. When they reached the third-floor landing, Harry turned around. "Listen, I kinda... heard what she said... and, well, what was it you told me? You don't deserve what happened. I know you're not a traitor."

Malfoy's eyes filled with tears again, but in the darkness that fact was hidden. "Thank you," he said softly before continuing down the stairs. He settled in for a sleepless night, because he sorely doubted that he didn't deserve the berating... he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't a traitor, either. Maybe not to his family, but he'd definitely betrayed _something._

xxxx xxxx_  
_

Breakfast the next morning was a subdued affair. Harry once again munched his toast, today with a glass of orange juice. Kreacher had made eggs- over easy- but was acting decidedly cool towards Draco; evidently, he had heard the shouting last night.

"Don't mind him; he'll come around," Harry murmured as the elf was leaving the room. "He's not so invested in the dogma that he can't see some reason, sometimes."

Draco smiled weakly and resumed picking at his eggs. Harry's eyes softened in concern. "I meant what I said last night, you know. You don't deserve to have people talk to you like that."

"Of course," Draco said mildly.

"I'm serious! And... well, what she said about your family was way out of line, Draco." It surprised Harry that the name rose to his lips, but after he said it he decided that it felt right, natural there. Malfoy looked up, enigmatic expression on his face. Harry continued, "I know how much you care for each other; you'd never betray them." Harry was referring to Lucius' constant pleading during the final battle to be allowed to search for his son, and Narcissa's heroic lie to _ensure_ she got that chance. Whatever their faults, the Malfoys truly cared for each other.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Logically, that makes complete sense... I thought you were a Gryffindor," he joked feebly.

"I am," said Harry seriously. "But House lines don't matter so much anymore; who a person becomes is much more important than where they started out." That lesson he'd learned from Snape.

"I don't suppose it particularly matters whether I honor my family anymore. My name is _worthless_ now," Malfoy spat bitterly, completely ignoring Harry's point.

"It's not your name that matters!_ Draco_, not Malfoy. Who _you_ are is what's important!" Harry spoke earnestly, green eyes wide and pleading, voice suffused with warmth and conviction. In spite of himself, Draco was heartened by that; plus, Harry had used his first name again.

Harry watched a timid smile creep onto Draco's lips. It was different, somehow, than any expression he'd ever seen before, on the Slytherin or on anyone else. It was as if it was the first of its kind, just poking its head out to see if it was safe. Seeing Malfoy last night, looking utterly defeated, crying on the floor, had engrossed Harry's burgeoning compassion tenfold. Malfoy had been hurt by the war, too, and badly. Perhaps he needed a friend to help him through it, with his parents in Azkaban, unable to provide comfort; after all, Harry didn't know where he'd be if not for Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. So, with surprisingly little hesitation, Harry had vowed to be that friend, that support system. So what if they'd been enemies in the past? The past was behind them, and the goal of the resistance after Voldemort's defeat was supposed to be helping the world overcome old prejudices. Well, Harry would practice what he preached.

Harry smiled softly to himself. That smile of Draco's was good, he thought. Maybe he could coax out more of them.

**This is the first chapter where I've included some of Draco's POV. It was certainly different than writing from Harry's, but I don't think different in a bad way. Anyway, how do you feel about it? :)**


	9. Chapter 9

Following Harry's pronouncement, Malfoy sat silently for a long time. Harry let him reflect for a while, and ate his own breakfast in rather anticipatory solitude. That had been the most heart-felt conversation he'd had with anyone in quite a while. Draco seemed to have really needed the reassurance. The war must have destroyed much of the confidence and sense of purpose Harry remembered Draco possessing. Well, maybe he could help get some of that back. Finally, when he couldn't stand the waiting anymore, he hazarded to say, "So, what are your plans for the day?"

Malfoy looked up; he'd apparently been so lost in thought that he'd forgotten Harry was there. He recovered quickly, however. "I had assumed I was going to be cleaning more of the house."

"Well, sure, I guess we can do that."

"We?" It was a rather incredulous tone, not one of contempt, in which he spoke. He was honestly shocked by the word, not demeaning Harry for using it. In some weird way, Harry guessed that meant that the blonde didn't mind his company.

"Yes. We. You know, as in, more than one person?" He said, playfully.

"I am quite aware of the fundamentals of grammar, Potter. I'm a bit surprised that you are." His tone was also playful, warm.

"Hey, without magic to teach, Muggle schools have got to focus on something."

"Very true," said Draco easily. Harry was watching carefully, and there didn't seem to be a reaction, negative or otherwise, to the mention of the non-magical population. It was a good sign; Harry couldn't stand that prejudiced nonsense, and he'd hoped to be proven correct that Draco was getting over it, too.

Harry grinned. "So, kitchen's in good shape. How about we check the drawing room?"

xxxx xxxx

It was actually rather fun working side by side with Malfoy, Harry mused. When he wasn't trying so hard to be proper and sophisticated, Malfoy was actually a pretty good guy. And he was really quite funny, when he wasn't using his wit to insult someone.

He also seemed inordinately happy to have his wand back, delighting to use it for every little thing that he could, and often times flourishing it when the task was completed. He was also fond of gently rubbing his thumb in small circles on the handle, apparently without realizing he was doing it.

The drawing room took surprisingly little time to clean; evidently the gains that had been made when the house served as Order headquarters hadn't been undone. Those curtains proved irreparable, but Harry chose to keep them up for the time being, because he didn't have anything with which to replace them.

The Black family tapestry had initially fascinated Draco. He traced the delicate gold lines connecting generation after generation, first with awe, and then increasing amounts of sadness. At last his hand fell limply, still secured in its magical splint, and he turned his back on the wall with a grimly determined look on his face.

"Alright?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Yes, Potter. Yes, I am," Draco replied, with surprising conviction. "That is permanently stuck to the wall, unfortunately."

"Yeah, we reckoned it would be," said Harry, referring to himself and Sirius, who loathed his family and would have removed it if it was at all possible to do so. "So was the portrait, though, but Kreacher's magic overcame that..."

"Somehow, I don't think it very likely that he will assist us in this," Malfoy said with a smirk. "But, there's nothing that says a little reorganizing wouldn't be in order..." He raised his wand like a conductor's baton, and with a cry of "_Mobilius,_" lifted one of the big curio cabinets off the ground. He carefully transported it to the opposite wall, and sat it down in front of the tapestry, partially obscuring it. "We can simply change the layout of the room by putting those things against this wall, and vice versa."

"Brilliant!" cried Harry, grinning hugely, and he too took up his wand and began the move.

Shortly, the two men had completely flip-flopped the furniture. Draco, who had rolled up his sleeves, wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. "Whew. Well, that's that, then. Unfortunately, you've lost the street view you had when sitting at the writing desk, but I daresay you'll be less distracted this way."

"Says you. Those are some pretty interesting patterns on that wallpaper."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Only you, Potter... only you..."

xxxx xxxx

To say the least, Kreacher was not happy about the new layout. He'd arrived with a tray bearing two bowls of chicken soup for lunch, but upon seeing his beloved tapestry obscured, dropped it in shock. "Master... what has Master done with the tapestry?"

"It's still there, Kreacher, right on the wall. Just, now I don't have to look at it."

Malfoy winced, and then Harry realized that perhaps he oughtn't to have phrased it quite like that. The elf stared murderously at Harry for a few seconds before pronouncing coldly, "Master must do as Master wishes."

"Kreacher, look-"

"Let him go, Potter," said Malfoy, for the elf turned on his heel and stomped out of the room in what was, absurdly, a ridiculously amusing fit. "He can't really stay mad at you for long; it's part of the contract."

"Oh, Kreacher is quite good at getting around the contract," said Harry darkly.

Malfoy looked thoughtful for a minute, and then made his way to the door. "Won't be a moment," he called cheerily.

Confused, Harry busied himself with magically (re)cleaning the carpet of the spilled soup. He'd bet anything that the house elf had Vanished the remains of the soup, which meant that Harry was going to be on his own for lunch. He was rubbish at cooking.

Malfoy slid back in through the door. "All taken care of," he said, and then winced a little. "Perhaps I shouldn't have sprinted..."

"Sit down" said Harry automatically, gesturing to the chair. Malfoy sank gratefully into it; the man had been on his feet for the entire day. The chair happened to give him a good view of the window, and he frowned upon seeing his reflection. He reached into his pocket to extract his wand, and then used it to slick his hair back into that tight, neat style.

Harry frowned slightly. Out of all the hairstyles to choose, that one was by no means the most flattering; it emphasized Malfoy's pointy chin and thin cheekbones. Nevertheless, he refrained from comment. "Mind if I ask what you said to him?"

Malfoy smirked enigmatically. "As a matter of fact, I do mind, Potter. I mind very much," he joked.

"Funny. But, if he's going to go murder me in my sleep or something, you could at least have the courtesy to tell me beforehand. I'll need to compose a will."

"Yes, yes, go on, I'll copy it down," said Malfoy, miming a quill and parchment.

It was a rather morbid subject to be joking about, but somehow Harry felt okay about it. "Let's see... Ron can have the Firebolt, he'll be delighted... Hermione gets the library's collection... George can have the house; there's probably enough stuff in here to keep the shop going another year... Percy can have Regulus' door knocker; it's appropriately pompous..." He continued his list, getting more outlandish as he went. By the end of it, the two were on the verge of falling from their chairs, their laughter was so boisterous.

At this point, Kreacher wandered in again, with more soup and as a token of apology, a pasty for each of them. Harry turned to Malfoy in wonder as the elf excused himself, nearly humming.

"Okay, I've _got_ to know. What did you tell him?"

"That you were making a time capsule of the tapestry, and to protect it from further harm used a special charm that lasts best in dark, compressed spaces. And you couldn't tell him because you wanted it to be a surprise."

"Clever!" exclaimed Harry. "And when am I opening this time capsule?"

Malfoy smirked. "2043, or thereabouts." Forty three years from now... Kreacher would surely have forgotten about it by then, if he was still around.

Harry grinned broadly again. "If I'd have known you were this sneaky, Malfoy, I would have befriended you years ago. The trouble a good fib like that could have saved us..."

"All part of the Slytherin way, Potter."

By the time the fourth bowl of soup had been emptied and the last pasty crumbs were off their plates, Harry was in a tremendously good mood. The nagging ache that had been omnipresent since Ginny's announcement had vanished, leaving behind a little bubble of happiness at having a new friend, and one with whom he got along so well. If only he'd known sooner...

Draco gently put down his fork. "Delicious," he proclaimed, and Harry nodded in agreement. "Now, we still have-" a glance at his watch "-three hours of cleaning."

Harry yawned. "Oh, don't worry about that today. I have work tomorrow; I just want to relax."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Do you now? And what, pray tell, do you do to relax?"

There was something in Malfoy's tone that Harry wasn't getting. But he shrugged it off. "Usually drink a cup of tea and listen to the radio for a bit. Or read the _Prophet_'s sports section, as long as it isn't Gobstones."

"I see," the blonde said, unmistakably embarrassed.

"Er... yeah..." said Harry awkwardly; _why would Malfoy be embarrassed?_ "But it doesn't really matter, if there's something you'd rather-"

"No, you go-"

"It's okay, really, I-"

"I insist, Potter; there's-" Both men stopped, looked at each other, and chuckled awkwardly after hastily looking away.

"Right." said Harry decisively. "Well, we can just play chess, then. I'm not very good, but it might be fun."

"Harry Potter, _not good_ at something? What _has_ the world come to?"

"Shut it," he said good-naturedly, and went to retrieve the set.

As it turned out, Harry did much better then he thought he would, and they were evenly matched. The game eventually ended in a draw when neither Draco's nor Harry's pieces refused to make any moves against so worthy an opposition.

"Good match," said Harry brightly, offering his hand to shake. Draco grasped it, but immediately jerked back. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, er, wrist still sore..." Harry told himself he must have imagined the faint blush on his guest's cheeks.

"S'okay," Harry replied... wait, wasn't Malfoy's _left_ wrist injured? He'd shaken with the right. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to determine what that meant, but gave up and decided to clean up the set. Draco had the same idea, at the same moment, so that their hands brushed again as they reached for the same corner of the board. Harry felt a rush of heat, and he joined Draco in yanking his hand back. "Are you, uh, sure you feel okay? To me, you felt a little feverish..."

"You know, I actually do feel a trifle under the weather. I think I'll turn in early, if that's alright with you."

"Sure. I'll check on you for dinner then, shall I?"

"N-no, that's quite alright. I'm not hungry... thank you though..."

"Er, yeah, no problem. Hope you feel better."

Malfoy nodded minutely and practically bolted from the room, leaving Harry feeling confused yet oddly exhilarated.

**This chapter made me ridiculously happy when I went back and re-read it. Hopefully, you've felt the same way!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey! I just wanted to say, again, how happy I am that so many of you are taking the time to read this, and that you like it enough to put it on your story alerts. That means a lot to me, it really does. BUT reviews also mean a lot, possibly even _more_, because it's your actual words telling me how you felt. So, if you could take a minute to review, even one chapter, I'd love you forever.**

**Also, for information purposes: I'm planning on updating this fic every other day; I figure, since it's done, there's no point waiting too long.**

**Now, onward!**

**-AmayaSora  
**

Mondays were usually great days for Harry, surprisingly; he was generally eager to go back to work and start helping people. Today, though, he was oddly apathetic. He definitely had more fun at home with Malfoy than at work, and he was beginning to suspect that he was having just as much of a positive impact at the former location as the latter.

Nevertheless, he trooped into the Ministry as usual, after a pleasant breakfast with Malfoy. Things had gone back to normal after last night. _It's odd that I'm thinking about pleasant meals with Draco Malfoy as normal now,_ he mused. The day had passed in the usual monotony that pervaded those stretches between cases, but Harry was in good spirits upon returning home.

"Hello," he called as he stepped in the door.

"Welcome back," came Draco's voice from the dining room. Harry entered to find Draco comfortably ensconced in a chair, reading the _Prophet_. Oberon was perched on the back behind him; that was shocking, because Oberon took to very few people. As Harry crossed the room to stroke the bird, Malfoy looked up. "You're in here, you know. _'New Wing to be named in Potter's Honor.'_"

Harry made a disparaging noise in his throat. He'd seen that, of course, and found it utterly unwarranted, and, if he was honest, a bit embarrassing. He didn't need any more press. "St. Mungo's, too? They really shouldn't be thanking me, all the people I've sent there. Indirectly, of course," he hastened to add, referring to all those injured in the battle and during the course of his missions to capture the more dangerous Death Eaters.

"Of _course_," said Malfoy delicately, amusement evident.

Harry flicked a stray ball of lint at him. It bounced off the paper. Malfoy smirked.

"What have you done today, besides reading embarrassing articles?"

"Pasting embarrassing articles up, all throughout the house," said Draco evenly, but the corners of his mouth traitorously twitched upwards. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco smiled. "More cleaning, actually."

"You didn't have to do that," the raven-haired man said.

"That was the agreement, remember?"

"Bollocks on the agreement," said Harry with a grin. "If you're here as my friend, on invitation, you don't have any weird sort of payment requirement, do you?"

"No. But I'd want to help anyway," he added softly. "I don't exactly... _hate_ your company anymore."

"Gee, thanks," said Harry, but warmly. "What did you clean today, anyway?"

"One of the rooms on the second floor. I figured it was time you had your master bedroom back."

"Draco, you didn't have to do that."

"You've already said that," he said fondly. "And, yes, I am aware of that fact, but I wanted to anyway. Not only Gryffindors can be nice, Potter."

Harry grinned stupidly, ridiculously happy once more. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

"You're quite welcome," Draco responded, slowly raising his head until his eyes locked with Harry's. The latter felt another odd jolt in his chest, and broke the connection. He was surprised to find his heart hammering, but dismissed it quickly as Kreacher arrived with supper, ham today.

"Another fantastic-looking meal, Kreacher!" Harry praised.

"Certainly, Master. Kreacher lives to please," the elf said modestly.

"Won't you sit down, Kreacher? Come have some of this," Harry urged, gesturing to the seat next to him. He thought he saw the briefest look of annoyance cross Malfoy's face, but the next instant it was gone.

"Thank you, Master," Kreacher replied, and soon he and Harry were having an in-depth conversation about the Ministry's plans for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (some of which had Hermione's name all over them). Malfoy interjected sporadically, but otherwise remained fairly silent. Harry could tell he had something to say, but was too shy.

Harry managed to steer the conversation to food (with some very creative leaps), and Kreacher shuffled off to bring in dessert, which was pudding today. After serving them, the elf retreated to another room to wash the dishes, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone.

Harry tried to smile encouragingly at Draco whenever the blonde glanced up at him, but he never seemed to be quick enough to catch the Slytherin's eye.

Eventually, Malfoy seemed to have plucked up the courage. "May I ask you something?" he said timidly.

"Of course," he responded at once.

Malfoy's voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. "Why did you save me? That night, in the fire? I, I'd been nothing but rude and downright mean and... unworthy."

"No one's unworthy, Malfoy," Harry said thoughtfully. Really, it was a stall tactic, because he'd never really thought about it before. And, he needed to give a good answer, because although the question had come out of the blue, he could tell it had been on his companion's mind for quite some time. At that moment, with the swirling flames and choking smoke, no other choice had presented itself; he couldn't do anything _but _help the boy. "I saved you because that was the right thing to do."

Malfoy nodded, an enigmatic expression on his face.

"Can I ask a question now?" Harry asked.

"It's only fair," the other replied, still lost in his recollections.

"At the Manor, why didn't you give us up? Me and Hermione and Ron, when they asked you who we were."

"I wasn't sure it really was you," he said, staring into the depths of the pudding bowl. "Wrong answers did not go over well with the Dark Lord." He shuddered.

Harry wasn't sure why, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the blonde was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. Those he let slide, however; they were questions for another night.

The line of questioning had reminded Harry of something that had been bothering him for a while. "Draco, I dunno whether you remember... this is really awkward, ah..." Harry said, rubbing the back of his head. "Sixth year, in- in the bathroom? I, I shouldn't have used that curse on you."

The blonde looked up then, and his expression was oddly closed. "I was going to use an Unforgivable Curse. You had every right to defend yourself."

"No! No, it's not- It was stupid of me to go and use an unknown curse on somebody... I didn't know what that spell did, otherwise I never would've used it! If Snape hadn't been there, you could've- you would've _died_. I- that's not okay, Draco. I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely, eyes searching Draco's face.

Something of that barrier melted, and his countenance changed, lightened. "Thank you. But, I forgave you a long time ago, Potter."

xxxx xxxx

That night found Draco all settled into his new bedroom. The bed and headboard in this one were made of white oak, with intricately-engraved ivy patterns snaking around it. This room had a neutral beige carpet, and the curtains and sheets were a fine emerald color.

Green was Draco's favorite color, which was fairly common for a Slytherin. Although, now his fondness for it had little to do with his House and almost everything to do with a certain pair of eyes, which shone brightly when their owner was hap- _alright, Draco, easy now,_ he urged, coaxing his mind down another path, a more appropriate path. Because, as usual, what he wanted he could never have, so there was no use dwelling on it.

This _particular_ never-to-be-attained desire had been festering for quite some time. He had, of course, started off hating Potter for refusing his friendship on the train. Their rivalry brought them into each other's presence increasingly often, and at some point during third year Draco had realized- with no small amount of shock- that his feelings, though strong, weren't hateful anymore. And as the knowledge that he loved that black-haired, green-eyed boy sank in, he responded by lashing out more and more harshly, trying desperately to sway his heart to more, as his father would say, _worthy_ objects. Obviously, this hadn't been successful; he'd hoped that after the war he could put the man out of his mind altogether. So much for _that_, he thought.

He had also wanted a normal family when all of the unpleasantness of the war was over, but almost immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts had realized what a pipe dream that was. All of them were too set in the old ways- not just the Dark stuff, although that was a factor. He meant the old ways of the purebloods, keeping to themselves except to influence Ministry policy or throw lavish parties with the same people every season- to really adapt to what was sure to be a new world.

Plus, he was scarred by the war; even though the physical scar, the hated Mark, had faded for good, the mental ones remained, reminders of the awful things he'd had to do, even though he so desperately wanted not to... his parents' faces as they took his punishment for him... the nightmares would haunt him forever. And now, with them in Azkaban for five years, that final goal of a return to ordinary life was even more impossible.

Yet, somehow, Harry made him feel hopeful, like maybe, someday things might really be okay. Here was someone who'd had every bit of bad luck imaginable thrown at him, but came through with courage and determination and, most striking, compassion. Apologizing for cursing an enemy... Draco had never seen anything like it, yet it was somehow no less than what he'd have expected from the man. Perhaps, subconsciously, he had known something of this hopefulness, and that was why he'd come to Harry; not only because he was in love, not only because he was the only person he could think of, because that's who he was _supposed_ to think of. His mind wanted him to feel better.

So, he would take the kindness, enjoy it for as long as he could, use it grow a little stronger in the face of his memories. Maybe, he could learn to cultivate some joy and hope in himself. Although, if he were perfectly honest, leaving Harry would probably destroy a good chunk of what he'd built up, because he literally had nothing left except this... arrangement, whatever it was.

For now, though, he'd enjoy it, enjoy the few nights he had where green eyes would grace, instead of haunt, his dreams.

xxxx xxxx

"That looks much better!" exclaimed Harry in delight. Malfoy had taken the bandages off of his ribs for the first time, and indeed the bruising and swelling were down significantly. The _Texerium_ measure had worked.

"It certainly feels better," Malfoy replied with a grin, buttoning his shirt.

"How about your wrist?"

"You know, that feels significantly better, too."

"D'you reckon we should try without the splint?"

"I don't see why not," said Malfoy, obligingly holding out his arm. Harry, who was sitting next to Malfoy on the edge of the bed, took it and passed his wand over the wrist, murmuring the spell to remove the splint.

He gently twisted Malfoy's wrist slightly to the right. "How does that feel?"

"Perfectly fine!" said Malfoy happily. Harry then carefully tried other angles for the wrist, and all except for the one where it was bent backwards yielded the same, pain-free result. Harry beamed, but when he looked up it was to see Malfoy's eyes closed. "Did that one hurt?"

"No, no, it feels great," he stammered hastily.

Harry smiled again. "Looks good. You're officially on the mend, Draco!"

"Wonderful news," the blonde said with smile. But by now Harry had been around him enough to determine that it was forced. He also knew that Draco still got a bit touchy about certain subjects, especially those related to his injuries, so he didn't know how to dig for information without alienating the Slytherin.

"Soon you'll be able to go home." There, that got a definite reaction; Malfoy's eyes looked sad all of a sudden, and his shoulders drooped slightly.

"Yes, I suppose I will. Delightful," he said with forced gusto.

There was something Draco wasn't saying, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure it out. But now, he was invested in this. Now, he really cared, not out of pity or duty, but from genuine affection. He'd grown to legitimately like Malfoy, to regard him as a real friend. And, that made him determined to find out the underlying cause of Draco's suffering, and fix it if he could. Maybe it would take awhile, but he _would_ succeed.

**I love my Draco POV here... he's very fun to write. **


	11. Chapter 11

**A little note to keep in mind: this is a _very _intense chapter, emotionally. Took me a long time to get it right, but now it's my second favorite one in the entire fic. I hope you'll enjoy it too.  
**

**-AmayaSora  
**

_The firelight glinted off of the brown bottles in the men's hands, oranges and yellows flickering. Still more bottles littered the ground; the sheer number of them proved that these men were well accustomed to drinking. Draco sat anxiously in the corner, staring idly into the flames. A small bag of money was tucked into the inside pocket of his robes; the few Galleons and the sense of obligation they brought were all that kept him tethered to this place, these men._

_A loud crash jerked him out of his reverie. The leader, a rather chubby auburn-haired man, had smashed his bottle on the nearest wall. So, they were drunk after all, and angry drunks at that... Draco shuddered._

_"Hey, blondie! C'mere," the man said, and Draco reluctantly rose and strode over to the group circled around the fire. He stared intently at Draco's face for a few uncomfortable seconds. "Got a _favor_ to ask," he leered, and his mates burst into guffaws._

_The lecherous tone and the sadistic smirk on his face as he gestured obscenely to his growing erection left no doubt what he meant by 'favor.' Draco made no attempt to hide the revulsion on his face. "You're sick."_

_"So?"_

_"So. I refuse." The man's face clouded over with rage. Draco swallowed nervously, but held firm; he had more pride than _that_, at least. He noticed that the others, cracking their knuckles dangerously, had tightened their circle around him._

_Acting infinitely braver than he felt, he raised the wand, his mother's chestnut one, gripping it so tightly his arm shook. "I'm warning you," he managed to say, betraying only a hint of fear._

_One of the goons shoved him roughly from behind, and he fell full forward, landing hard on his hands and knees. He felt a jolt go up his left arm and a searing pain; he'd done something to that wrist, something at least moderately serious..._

_Panic was rising inside him now; without the ability to use a wand he was helpless, the situation hopeless. "Since you're down there anyway..." the big one began, slowly._

_"No! NEVER!" Draco screeched, backing away. The circle was closed, nowhere to go. His eyes darted wildly, chest heaving, looking for any way to escape, any at all... the brute bent down, disgustingly close to Draco's face, and out of sheer desperation, without thinking about it, he let his hand fly, connecting with the side of the man's face._

_Unfortunately, it was his left hand, which still held his mother's wand, so another wave of pain shot through him. The aggressor, on the other hand, seemed unharmed, but wore a look of cold fury on his face. Without preamble, his foot flew out to kick Draco's ribs, and he collapsed with a weak oof as the air rushed out of his lungs._

_Then, more blows started, too many to count, feet and fists and now jets of light stinging, burning, spells raining down on him... no way out... his world was spinning, pain everywhere, coming from all directions. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a ball. By some miracle, one of the idiots hit a comrade on the shin with a Burning Jinx, and the ensuing chaos gave Draco just enough time to roll away, painfully, and cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself. It was poor by any standards; his entire shoe was visible, for one thing, and other sections of it would flicker off uncontrollably; the wand must have been damaged in the fall._

_Sure enough, he looked down, and saw a jagged crack running the length of it, partially splitting the thin wood (he'd always wondered at how thin and elegant-looking his mother's wand was. Now he realized that appearance should take a back seat to sturdiness in the case of weaponry)._

_The ruckus had finally died down; one of the men shouted "Where's he at?"_

_The others looked around wildly, and Draco retreated into the darkest corner, shrinking himself as far back as he could despite the screaming pain in his ribcage. He forcibly bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from making a sound, and to have that one extra tie to the consciousness that he could feel beginning to recede from the edges of his mind._

_"I don't know!" another one cried, confused. The search moved closer and closer, and Draco's terror rose... surely they'd hear his heart hammering..._

_"Don't worry about it. Where's he going to go, huh?"_

_"Anywhere he bloody wants to, now the little shit's got my-" the leader snarled._

_"It's all of our money! You're not the only one who matters here!"_

_Auburn-hair rose up menacingly to his full height. "I'm not, am I? Who leads this here gang, eh? _Need me to show you?"

_More blessed infighting... Draco, holding his breath, began to quietly crawl towards the door, which was thankfully only a few feet away; it really was a small dump of a house. So close now, oh so close; he just might make it-_

_A loud thud reached his ears, and without looking back Draco gave up all attempts to move slowly and bolted out the door. He tripped down the steps, though, landing badly on his ribs yet again... his leg banged the hard, unforgiving edge of the concrete... Blindly he crawled again, towards the gate._

_One of the men stumbled over him, and for one heartstopping moment he saw him bend down, hand poised to grab his now-visible arm, but then the leader shouted "Leave it!" and in a whirl of cloaks all four of them were gone._

_Draco curled into a tight ball, eyes squeezed shut. His awareness flickered again, the pain surged stronger then ever, it was going to win... dimly, he heard a voice command "Accio!" and felt the small jaguar statue fly away from where it had partially fallen out of his pocket... the jade figure was his father's heirloom..._

_He opened his eyes, though surely he must be dreaming, because that couldn't be Potter standing there, Harry, turning the talisman over in his hand, frowning thoughtfully._

_Harry turned away, walking toward the alley behind this house. With his last burst of strength, Draco surged to his feet, teetering toward the fence post; he grasped it but the gate couldn't support him, tumbling with a thud underneath him._

_Weakly, he watched Potter turn around, wary, wand outstretched. If only he could cry out... but Harry was turning away again, now walking away... leaving him alone... utterly alone, helpless...No, don't go... No... Please..._

"No! Don't! Stop! NO!" Malfoy was screaming in his sleep, thrashing quite as wildly as he had that first night. Harry, who had dashed from the bedroom next door after the shouting had awoken him, stood horrified at the desperate quality of the plea, the hoarseness it had already brought to Malfoy's throat. He was screaming as if his life depended on it.

"Malfoy. Malfoy!_ Draco!"_ he cried, shaking the Slytherin's sweat-soaked shoulders roughly.

His eyes snapped open, and upon seeing the Gryffindor he let out a frightened cry of "Harry!" and immediately flung himself forward, wrapping his arms around Harry's chest, squeezing tight, burying his face in Harry's neck.

The brunette felt Draco's harsh breaths on his skin with each shallow, jagged exhalation. The blonde's nails were starting to dig into his ribs, and he was pressing himself even closer to Harry, as if trying to connect every inch of them. Without further thought Harry drew his own arms around Draco's heaving back, rubbing smooth circles.

After a time, Draco quieted a bit, and Harry moved one hand to his hair. It was astonishingly soft under all the gel he usually applied; even when sweat-dampened it rested lightly, like down. He stroked softly, silently allowing Draco to completely recover.

Once the Slytherin's breathing was deep and even, Harry whispered "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Draco whispered back. "It was only a dream."

"Some dream," said Harry weakly. "What on earth was it about?"

Draco refused to say. Instead, he abruptly pulled himself out of Harry's grasp and scooted further up the bed, eliminating all contact. "Draco..." Harry said, reaching out and grabbing the blonde's hand. "The war was... the war destroyed a bit of everyone, Draco. We... we've seen awful things, things no one should have to see... things like that naturally lead to nightmares. I know I have them. Nearly every night."

"You... you do?" he whispered shakily.

"Yeah. Why do you think I'm always up so late? If I'm exhausted, I don't dream as much."

Malfoy went silent again, staring at Harry's hand covering his own. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply once, and when he opened them again he met Harry's gaze with a dazzling swirl of silver... Draco's eyes were silver, not grey, _silver_; after all this time, how could Harry never have noticed that?

Their gazes locked for a heartbeat, two... Harry had lost count by the time Kreacher came stumbling into the room with a tea tray. The men broke eye contact, blushing absurdly.

"Th-thanks, Kreacher," said Harry, inexplicably breathless.

"Of course, Master," the elf said, and then had to stifle a yawn. He was evidently getting too old for these late nights.

"You've done well, Kreacher. You can go to bed, if you want."

"Thank you, Master," the elf said heartily and disappeared with a disturbingly loud crack!, Apparition being the faster way to get to his den.

"So. It's oolong there, if you want it."

"Thank you, Harry," Draco murmured as he reached for his cup. But his eyes were fixed on their intertwined fingers.

xxxx xxxx

Something changed for Draco that night. It was the first night he'd called Potter by his first name, referred to him as Harry out loud, not merely in his head. The first time had been quite by accident, the vividness of the dream sending him reeling. The second time, though... _that_ was what really changed things. Because he said it in response to the glowing goodness he'd seen coming from the emerald depths of Harry's eyes, a blaze of genuine sympathy and, maybe, of something deeper.

He'd been hyper-aware of Harry for days now, from the time he held his wrist for so long as he inspected it, the spark he felt whenever there was physical contact, the delightful heat rising... he wondered if the brunette felt the same way. He hadn't minded intertwining their fingers last night, though at some level Draco wondered if he'd even noticed. Wouldn't it be marvelous if he had, if those same thoughts were racing-

But of course they wouldn't be. He had to tell himself that. Of _course_ it doesn't mean anything, any of it. Because, if he allowed himself to believe, even for a moment, that Harry could _possibly_ want him even half as badly as he wanted the Gryffindor, well, the rapidly-approaching day of departure just might kill him. No, this was a little plateau, a shining mountain to temporarily hearten him before he returned to the valleys. There was no alternative, no other way for this to be. He had to keep that distance, that separation. It was imperative.

So why did he seek so much contact now? Why did he take every opportunity to brush against Harry, to lean closer and take in that delicious scent of rain and pine needles and _freedom_? And, the emotional closeness... Draco hadn't let _anyone_ see him like that, not even his mother. No one knew the depth of his pain, except Harry, yet instead of shying away and closing himself off, he was opening up more and more, revealing more of his inner self... keeping almost no secrets... the one he _was_ consciously keeping, the depth of his love for the other man, that one he'd give away too, eventually. It was only a matter of time.

It should frighten him, petrify him, and it did- but it also exhilarated him. Now, he needed it almost like he needed air...

If he knew this was dangerous, that he'd never survive the break when it came, that he couldn't bear the thought of life without Harry, why was he letting his heart wander further away?


	12. Chapter 12

At his desk, Harry worried about Draco. In the cafeteria, Harry worried about Draco. While out on a mission, Harry tried desperately _not_ to worry about Draco and become distracted, but only succeeded about half of the time. Lying in bed, just before sleep claimed him, he smiled softly at visions of Draco, but didn't remember it afterwards, so that when he woke up, he worried about Draco some more.

He was worried because... because... well, he couldn't really pinpoint why, exactly. He just was. His subconscious probably picked up on something he hadn't consciously noticed, which was why it kept calling up images of Draco as he'd been when he'd first arrived, injured and alone, of his face sagging in defeat, of him locked in Harry's arms, terrified and shivering, and, most often of all, the few smiles and laughs that graced his face, made the color in his eyes dance. It _had_ to be worry... right?

Yes, that _must_ be it; he was worried about what would happen to the Slytherin when he left. He hadn't heard Malfoy mention one other acquaintance the entire time he'd been there, no one for whom he had any sort of regard. He wondered whether Pansy and Goyle and the rest had stopped speaking to him.

Draco was still so wounded, so fragile, he thought. One small slip and that'd be all it took to return him to the state Harry'd found him in- not the physical one, but the emotional one, overwhelmed and desperate and lonely. It seemed as if Harry was the last friend he had left- the brunette's eyes widened. He probably _was_ all Draco had left...

"Going out for lunch!" he yelled over his shoulder to a confused Ron as he snatched his cloak and hurried down the hall. He Apparated the instant he was clear to, spinning into the compressing darkness.

"Draco!" he called as he appeared in the foyer, and stumbled a bit as he tried to take a step too soon after landing.

"What? What is it?" the Slytherin's voice cried, alarmed. Soon after he appeared at the top of the stairs, up which Harry raced.

"Where are you going to go after this?" he asked abruptly.

"I... hadn't really thought about it, honestly," said Malfoy slowly. Carefully.

Harry raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You haven't considered _at all_ where you're going to go?"

"Not entirely, no. I'm quite sure Pansy or Blaise would take me in, they were always-"

"Draco, please stop lying to me," said Harry beseechingly. "You have an entire Manor waiting for you, yet I haven't heard one mention of it, the entire time you've been here, and it didn't seem to even cross your mind just now."

"Silly of me. Must have- must have slipped my mind." His voice rose in pitch slightly with nerves.

"Draco," asked Harry again, warmly, and placed a hand on Draco's upper arm.

"I... I can't go back, Harry," he whispered wretchedly. "The memories, the... I can't do it. I'm not as strong as you," he finished, tears filling his eyes.

"Yes you are," Harry declared firmly, squeezing. "You _are_, Draco, you just don't have anyone to help you see that, to force that inner strength to rise up. At least, until now you didn't."

"What are- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm coming with you, Draco. I'm coming with you back to Malfoy Manor and together we'll face those demons, those memories. I'm saying that, if you'd let me, I'd be the one to help you find your courage."

Draco stood there wordlessly, entirely stunned. This was far greater than anything he'd ever expected, even of Harry... it took all he had not to launch himself forward and snog the daylights out of the man. But he couldn't do that. And he couldn't accept this, he couldn't, because it would lead to more attachment and it wouldn't work anyway and he'd be left worse than before.

Harry seemed to read some of that in his eyes, for his emerald ones got a hard, determined look. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Malfoy," he said. "You know how stubborn we Gryffindors can be."

Back at the Ministry, Harry strode purposefully into Robards' office. It was, naturally, the biggest one in the entire department, with obscenely large windows and a private, personalized image of a Muggle park enchanted behind it.

His boss looked up, and when he saw who it was he immediately dropped his quill and smiled sycophantically. "Harry! What a pleasure! Please, sit down."

"Er, I'm okay thanks, sir," he said.

"Would you care for a crumpet? Biscuit? I can have Demelza make a cup of tea if you'd-"

"No, I'm really alright sir."

"Very well," Robards said genially. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, actually, sir, I was sorta hoping to request a favor..."

"Absolutely, Harry, I love granting favors! What is that you need?"

"Some time off."

"Yes, yes," said Robards airily. "you've certainly earned one or two days, son, all the time you've put in."

"Er... I was actually thinking more along the lines of... a week?"

"A week?" said Robards sharply. His smile (fake though it was) faltered for a second before he hurriedly pasted it back up. "Now, Harry, we're all a little tired, but isn't a week a little _excessive_?"

"I don't reckon so, sir. I have some personal things to take care of, sir."

"And, and these _personal things_ can't wait until your regularly-scheduled holidays, can they?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. I'd be willing to trade my holiday vacation for this one, though."

"No, no, Potter, that's not how it's done." Robards sighed resignedly. "I'm sorry, dear boy, but I have to deny-"

"You're denying me leave?"

"Well... at the present moment we have a bit of a, of a shortage of, er, _qualified_, that is to say, dedicated-"

"You don't want to lose the publicity," said Harry shrewdly. Robards' eyes widened.

"I have no such motivation, Potter! And I find it-"

"You gave Parvati an entire year off to go visit India! You let Neville go without a second thought."

"Entirely different circumstances," he huffed. "Besides, if I were to grant you leave, who would cover your casework?" he asked, rather nastily.

"You give Ron and me more than double what the rest get! I'm sure they'd be delighted to get some of the good cases, which seem always to fall on _my_ desk. All the actual Death Eater ones. Admit it, you give those to me!"

"Well... Potter, if I do it is only because you're the best we have."

"That's rubbish and you know it," said Harry harshly.

"I never! You, Potter, you can leave my office immediately!"

"Fine, as soon as you give me my holiday." He crossed his arms defiantly. Harry wasn't entirely sure where this was coming from, but after a year of hating the man's blatant favoritism and habit of giving promotions based on name rather than skill, he was almost sorry he held back.

"You really aren't in any position to issue ultimatums like that," Robards ground out through clenched teeth.

"Fine, fine. I'll leave. Consider this my two-week's notice then." It was an under-handed ploy, and Harry knew it, but he felt pretty confident nonetheless. Robards cared too much about his poster child.

"I- what- that's- oh _alright!_" He yelled finally. "You can have your holiday, Potter, but you had better be back here bright and early in a week's time."

"I will, sir. Thank you, sir," said Harry cheerily, not quite managing to hide his smirk. He had just made an enemy out of Robards, but if the grapevine rumors were true (and Harry was fairly certain they were, given the subtle smirk Kingsley'd gotten when he'd been asked) by that time he'd have a new boss to befriend.

He returned to his office, grinning madly, to break the news to Ron. But his partner wasn't there, nor was there any note saying where he'd gone. Frowning, he decided he'd pop in at his house on the way home.

Ron and Hermione's flat was in a rather nice section right at the edge of Wizarding London. Hermione had been delighted to find that, with a small channelling charm, electricity worked in the place, which had made her determined to buy it. Ron agreed after much cajoling.

He knocked on the door to number 14 and could have sworn the eagle on the knocker winked at him. He shook his head, chuckling, as Hermione opened the door.

"Harry!" she cried in welcome as she stepped back to admit him. "How wonderful to see you!"

"Yeah," he grinned, surveying the room. Crookshanks was certainly right at home on the windowsill.

"Ron's not here at the moment, said he was going out with some friends. I thought that would've been you."

"No," said Harry. "Might be George and Lee, though. He'd been saying he might."

"Oh," said Hermione pleasantly. "Well, what brings you here, Harry? Are you staying for supper? I'll go whip something up."

"No, that's okay, Hermione. I only came to tell you that I'm going on holiday for a few days."

"Holiday? Where are you going?"

"The country," said Harry easily. It wasn't technically a lie, either. He didn't know why he was so reluctant to tell his friend the whole truth, though... well, part of it was that he knew it'd get back to Ron, and Ron would most definitely not be happy.

"Oh, how wonderful, Harry! I take it Malfoy's better, then?"

"Yeah, he's great."

Hermione raised her eyebrow infinitesimally as she perceived Harry's buoyant tone, but didn't comment. "Glad to hear it. I was starting to worry, since you hadn't said anything to me..."

"I did promise, didn't I? Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"Not to worry, Harry," she said, and the look in her eye convinced him she'd brought it up purposefully to make him feel guilty.

"Yeah, so, you'll let Ron know, won't you?"

Hermione nodded. "Harry... you are doing okay, aren't you? After Ginny?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he said happily.

"That's so great to hear." Seeing her friend's impatience, she continued, "I hope you have a fantastic time, Harry."

"I sure will!" he exclaimed, grin growing hugely.

"I'm glad," the witch said earnestly, and with a cheery wave the raven-haired man was gone. Hermione smiled softly, judging from the spring in his step as he practically raced down the hall and the irrepressible smile he'd worn that Harry was truly happy.

xxxx xxxx

"Harry!" Draco called. Since he was alone for the moment, he allowed the smile to blossom on his face; he'd decided he really loved saying the name, and resolved to do it as much as possible while he could.

"Yeah?" He stuck his head around the door, black hair mop-like as always, sticking up in odd angles and shapes that were somehow endearing.

"Are you _sure_ that you-"

"You've asked every variant of that question at least a dozen times since I got home, Draco. The answer's never changed."

"Alright. I was just checking."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't want me around." He tried to keep his voice light and airy, but Harry had always been rubbish at controlling his emotions, and Draco heard the slight sadness that hid just under the surface. It gave his heart a little thrill, knowing Harry_ wanted_ him to want him to be around.

"That's not the case at all," he said firmly, looking straight into Harry's emerald eyes. Every time, a beam of tension stretched between them until one of them broke contact. Draco wasn't sure how much more he could take, but most of the time, he didn't really care.

Harry broke the gaze this time, averting his eyes shyly. "I'm glad..." he said softly, and Draco's heart fluttered erratically again. He really needed to stop using that tone...

"So, er, how's the packing going?" Draco said, awkwardly. _Damn, awkwardly?_

"Really well. I'm actually just about finished... just need a few more pairs of socks."

"Yes, socks are important." _And that was a stupid thing to say._ "I think Kreacher might have taken some to wash..."

"Bet he did, yeah," said Harry. "Erm, I'll go check that." And he fairly bolted from the room. That was certainly a new development. It was almost as if he made Harry as nervous as Harry made him...

Why did Malfoy suddenly make him nervous? Harry thought as he stumped down the stairs. It was the oddest thing, but whenever their eyes locked or their skin brushed he felt... weird. Good weird, but also awkward weird...

It was bound to be awkward when two people who barely knew each other were in such close proximity. Especially when those people had been considered enemies just two weeks prior. That was the nervousness, obviously. You were always nervous making new friends, because when you first meet people you have no idea what will offend them so you walk on eggshells. Yes. Exactly.

Had it really been two weeks? It seemed like much less... time always flew by for Harry when he was doing what he enjoyed, in this case helping someone in need. But, the calendar did not lie. Today really was Saturday.

Breakfast had been subdued. Malfoy picked listlessly at his eggs, refusing to look up. Harry didn't know how to break into a conversation, either, so they sat in silence, except for the occasional niceties of "Pass the butter" or "Need more juice?"

Nevertheless, Harry stood by the door, duffel bag full of clothes in hand. He felt excited, brimful of energy. There was something thrilling about this, about dropping everything for a friend.

Kreacher lurked conspicuously in the doorway to the dining room, passive-aggressively cleaning an imaginary spot. He hadn't taken too kindly to being left behind. After further discussion, Harry had realized that Kreacher didn't want to leave the house (otherwise the Gryffindor would have been happy to have the elf along), but didn't want to be left alone either. There was really nothing for it, however. He did tell Kreacher that he could pop over to visit whenever he pleased, and that a week wasn't really that long, but it did little to help.

"He'll get over it," Malfoy had said rather inconsiderately earlier in the morning. Harry had noticed that stress tended to bring out the worst in the blonde.

Speak of the devil... Draco was coming down the stairs now, having made one last check of the rooms on the upper floors.

"Got everything, then?" said Harry pleasantly.

"Not as if I actually brought anything with me," his companion said sourly.

Harry ignored it. "Right. Well, best be off then. Kreacher, remember to feed Oberon three times a day," he reminded the elf. Oberon was, unfortunately, not as smart as Hedwig had been, and wasn't as in-tune with Harry's movements. So, as he was out hunting at the moment, Harry would just leave him in Kreacher's care.

"Yes, Master. Kreacher hopes Master enjoys his little trip."

"Thanks, Kreacher," said Harry quickly, cutting across what would undoubtedly have been a spiteful comment from Malfoy. "I'll see you in a week then."

He stepped jauntily out the door and waited for Draco to shuffle along after him. The man's face was dreadfully white, he noted with concern. "Are you okay?"

"_Marvelous_, Potter," he spat. "Smashing."

"No, you're not... but you will be," the raven-haired man assured. Malfoy looked skeptically, but sighed resignedly. "Right. Well, shall we?" Harry glanced sidelong at Malfoy, who nodded minutely, and in synch the pair twisted on the spot and vanished into thin air.

"Are you sure no Muggles saw us?" said Draco after they landed.

"Positive. We were on the top step; Muggles can't see any part of the house."

"You better be. It'd be a bad lookout if your little stunt got us both arrested."

"We're not going to get _arrested_." Harry's mouth twitched as he fought back an amused smile. "Although you might look pretty good in prison gray."

"And I'm _sure_ your lovely Death Eater friends would thank you most graciously for providing them with new accommodations," he snapped sharply.

"Yeah, they'd be thrilled to see me. Probably bought me gift baskets," Harry said, trying to coax a grin out of his companion, but to no avail. He sighed, and then looked around him. "Where are we?"

"Longsbock Valley," said Malfoy at once. "Just south of the Manor. Apparently the wards do still work..."

"Right," said Harry, shifting his grip on the duffel bag. "So we've got a bit of a walk, then?"

"Maybe a mile."

Harry nodded and then set off at a brisk yet comfortable pace. Malfoy trailed slightly behind him, silent. At last they crested the hill, and the yew trees that decorated the drive rose in front of them, and barely visible beyond them was the neat brown roof of the house.

Draco stopped dead at the sight. Harry turned around to look and saw the Slytherin's eyes widen, and his body go rigid. Abruptly, he clenched his fists at his sides and stalked away.

"Draco!" Harry called, but the man didn't stop. Harry dropped his bag and ran over to intercept him. "Draco," he said again, gentler this time.

"I can't do it," he whispered dejectedly. "I thought, maybe... but I can't. It's too much. The memories, I..." Tears welled up again and quickly spilled over.

"Draco," said Harry softly, grabbing his hand. "It's going to be okay. You can do this. I believe in you," he said, and reached up to brush away the tears with his thumb. Draco raised his own trembling hand to hold Harry's in place, and misty silver eyes locked with fierce, determined emerald.

"I believe in you," Harry repeated at a whisper and Draco smiled tentatively and let his hand fall. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he turned and strode purposefully down the hill.


	13. Chapter 13

The drive had seemed so much shorter the last time Harry was here. Of course, at that moment he had been terrified for his life and that of his friends. Now, however, he pushed those memories from his mind, because he needed to be strong for Draco. The man's issues ran deep, but Harry knew that there was hope left for him, an assertion that was confirmed every time he saw that smile.

They approached the forbidding doors, high oak barriers carved with intricate swirls and starburst patterns. With a quick glance at his companion, Harry pushed them open, distantly thinking that it was odd to find them unlocked like that. The entrance hall was vast, with an emerald carpet covering the stone floor. That carpet was now dusty and frayed, though, edges torn and dark stains marring its surface. A marble staircase rose from the center of the hallway at the back, leading to the second floor, but that too had chips and scratches in it.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Draco, who stood immobile just outside the threshold. He smiled encouragingly and held out his hand. "You can do it." Draco looked at his outstretched hand, then at the room, and back again. Finally he stepped over and grabbed it. Harry squeezed lightly. "Told you," he said, with just the barest hint of a smirk, which Draco saw. He smiled faintly in response.

Hand in hand, they walked through the hall, footsteps echoing loudly in the nearly empty space. Harry assumed it hadn't always been like this; from what he knew of pureblood families there should have been heirlooms, busts and portraits all over. This was one more piece of information to file away for later review.

They passed the door to the drawing room, and Draco stiffened. This was the room where Harry and his friends had been held and tortured, so Harry reacted too; thinking of Dobby caused his posture to droop in mourning. Draco clutched his hand tighter, and Harry squeezed yet again in response to the sudden warmth that flooded his arm, straightening with effort.

At last they had crossed to the staircase, and Draco's breathing evened. Harry looked to him for direction. "Upstairs?"

Draco nodded faintly, and they began their ascent, Draco staring at the banister with a most peculiar expression as his right hand trailed lightly over its once-gleaming golden surface.

Once at the top, Draco veered to the left, and Harry followed, taking in the drab curtains covering the bay windows and the carpet, which here was black with multitudes of gold stars on it.

They came to the last door in the hallway and Draco stopped, looking sidelong at Harry timidly. Harry smiled once again, and Draco turned the knob and pushed open the door.

"It's the only room that's never in my nightmares," he said quietly as he flicked the lights on with a wave of his wand. It was, evidently, Draco's childhood bedroom. The circular carpet was deep emerald, as were the curtains. The window which overlooked the back gardens had a seat covered in black cloth with silver embroidery. In the center stood a canopy bed with silky white sheets and green hangings.

Harry plopped down onto the bed heavily, a bit overwhelmed. Draco's body jerked downward, too, and it was only then that Harry realized they'd been holding hands the entire time. Somehow, that didn't bother him.

"It... it is a little much," said Draco hesitantly.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, awed. "It's nice, though."

"Thank you."

Something over Harry's head caught his eye, and he craned his neck to see. Painted above the bed was the night sky, a _moving portrait_ of the night sky. Bright comets shot by, stars twinkled, and nebulae pulsed. It was amazing, and Harry leaned so far back that he fell over onto his back.

"Wow..."

Draco's face appeared above his. "Mother painted that herself," he said softly.

"It's beautiful," he whispered, and it was. The tiny silver dots shining so brightly... and the glow of Draco's silver eyes, sparkling, subtle shades shifting in an entrancing way, a beautiful way... a strand of pale blond hair fell free of the gel pushing it back, fell onto Draco's face, wispy, and Harry had the urge to brush it away and touch the delicate lips smiling angelically.

_WHAT?_ He shot bolt upright, eyes panicked. _What was that? What- why- where did _that_ come from? _Draco was staring at him, concerned, and there again his eyes shimmered- "Your mother's a great artist," Harry said, loudly. Obtrusively, utterly unromantically, trying to break the spell of that moment.

"Yes, she is," said Draco. "Father used to be, too. He'd whittle little figures out of jade..." He smiled sadly, reminiscing on yet another thing he'd lost.

"Impressive," said Harry awkwardly. Suddenly his whole mind was screaming at him to go, go away, run now. Anywhere, everywhere, just go before- _Before what?_ a small voice piped up, falsely innocent. Don't make me say it, he thought angrily. A superior smirk swam into his mind, annoyingly similar to Hermione's. _FINE! Before I feel anything more. More than what? I don't know! More than friendship? Yes. No! That's not what- it's-_

He sighed heavily. Draco, who had been looking at him with concern as he sat there silently with those thoughts arguing in his head, prompted "Harry?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he said. "I, um, I just remembered that I had to go do something today. But, uh, it's fine. Really. I'm fine."

"What do you have to do? It's quite alright if you-"

"No. Really, it's okay."

Draco looked unconvinced. "I don't want to be a burden, Harry, really. If you have something you'd rather be do-"

"No!" he said quickly. "You're- you're not a burden. I'll just have Ron do it for me, or Dean. Dean's reliable."

"If you're sure..."

Harry nodded and smiled, but he had a dreadful suspicion that it didn't reach his eyes.

xxxx xxxx

That night, Harry couldn't sleep. The futon on which he'd situated himself in a small guest room wasn't uncomfortable, but even as his body became relaxed his mind continued to whirr.

It wasn't right, he thought, what he was feeling. It wasn't... he wasn't _gay_. He loved Ginny, a girl, _Ginny_. Ginny and her flowing red hair and eyes the color of warm maple syrup. He pictured her in his mind, every detail, but somehow all said mind did was toss back images of Draco's smile and hair and _eyes_...

He's_ Malfoy_! Harry reminded himself. No one changes that much. Yet even as he thought it he knew it wasn't true; the Draco he'd come to know was almost nothing like the Malfoy of their childhood. Perhaps there'd always been this goodness in him, but the times forced him to hide it until whatever hardships he'd had broke down those walls to release the light to the world.

_Stop it!_ thought Harry angrily, turning over forcefully. This was _Malfoy_, and he wasn't going to be thinking in _poetry_ over Malfoy. This was a bloke, and more importantly this was someone all his friends- his adoptive family- hated. He couldn't betray them, he couldn't-

That same little voice from before butted in again. _Maybe you can show them the _real_ Draco, the one you know now. How fragile he is, yet how great his capacity for love._

He _is_ fragile, thought Harry. He's fragile, and if something happened between them- _not_ that it was going to!- if it did, and then went bad, he didn't know how Draco could recover. Harry couldn't do that to him, do that to _anyone._

_But is it_ fair, the voice continued, _to deny yourself happiness? Is it fair to him to cut this off before anything has a chance to come out of it?_

Harry buried his head under the pillow, too tired to think anymore, yet unable to stop. A scratching sounded at the window, and Harry raised his head. There was an owl there. He checked his watch; 1:16, too early for the paper...

He trudged over to the window and was shocked to see Oberon hovering there, letter securely tied to his leg. He threw the window open and allowed the owl to enter. "I told Kreacher to take care of you!" he reprimanded at a whisper.

Oberon merely raised his leg importantly. Harry took the parchment. "I know, it's not your fault," he said, absently reaching out to stroke the owl. He twisted his head away and blinked pointedly at the missive in Harry's hand.

"Fine, fine," he said; _anything_ to take his mind of off things. The letter turned out to be from Andromeda, telling him about little Teddy. He was growing fast, she said, and his Metamorphmagus powers were manifesting stronger every day.

Apparently, she'd taken him to the park that afternoon. _'It is still cold enough that Teddy can have his hat on, which eliminates any awkward questions from Muggles nearby. Teddy loves the sandbox; he sat in there for hours sculpting little mounds and rivers._

_'He is such an outgoing little boy; that'd be more of Dora coming out in him. Today he invited the sweetest little Muggle girl to play with him. The poor dear was all alone, because the other children were playing tag and she had a bit of a limp. But Teddy went over and grabbed her hand and pulled her into the sandbox, and next moment they were happy as clams._

_'It was such a touching moment that I had to take a picture. I've enclosed a copy for you-'_ Here Harry broke off and tipped the open envelope into his hand. The picture fell out, showing little three-year-old Teddy in the sandbox, beaming at the camera. Next to him sat a little brunette girl in an orange dress smiling shyly too. But Harry could see her genuine joy at being liked and included.

Like Lupin, he thought with a smile. Teddy's father would undoubtedly have been so proud of his son reaching out to the girl like that; he too knew what it was like not to fit in. Tonks would just have been delighted with Teddy _period_, he thought. She was just that way, happy over everything.

They were lucky to have found each other, Harry frequently said of Tonks and Lupin. They were obviously made for each other, clearly so happy. It was only Lupin's worries about what others would say that had almost ruined everything, almost stopped their love. He tried to deny love for noble reasons, and it hadn't worked. Love triumphed... Hadn't Lupin once told him to trust his instincts?

Harry's eyes widened and he looked at the picture again. There was a kind of love, too, a pure act of kindness by this little toddler. Teddy didn't care who this girl was or where she came from. It didn't matter to either of them... when did it start mattering to grown-ups?

Then he thought of Dumbledore, definitely grown up, old and wise- it had never mattered to him. Dumbledore, ever the proponent of love in all its forms. He had understood the power of love to overcome all obstacles, even death, in one way or another. And Snape, whose love had been his redemption...

And at that moment Harry decided. Given all that he'd seen love do for others, and the impact it'd had on his own life- the reason he _had_ his life- given that, love was something you just couldn't ignore. It didn't matter what people thought. Nothing really mattered, except giving as much love as you could. Even if that meant you loved your childhood enemy. And it didn't even matter if they loved you back. If you made them happy, even with just friendship, that was enough.

He looked hard at Oberon. "You know, maybe there's something of Hedwig in you after all."

xxxx xxxx

"Good morning," Harry said cheerily as Draco stepped out of his room. The blonde was quite taken aback; the previous evening Harry had been decidedly distracted, distant, even cold. Draco worried that perhaps he'd somehow overstepped his bounds, or that Harry had finally realized how he felt and it repulsed him.

"Morning," he responded, suffusing his tone with warmth. Not that it needed much help; the sight of the black-haired man always lightened his heart. "Where did you get the food?" For Harry was holding a bowl of assorted fruit in his outstretched arms.

"Bought it, of course," he said casually. "I didn't know what you liked, so there's a little bit of everything in there."

Draco smiled. "Would you like to come in and eat? I daresay it's more comfortable than the hallway."

Harry beamed and followed the direction of Draco's beckoning arm, passing perhaps a bit nearer to Draco's body than was necessary. Not that Draco minded in the slightest.

The two feasted on pears (Draco) and oranges (Harry) while reclining on the large dragon leather sofa (thankfully, this one was a tasteful grey color as opposed to the lurid green Harry had seen before.)

One of the apples perched precariously in the bowl decided to roll out and onto the floor with no prompting. Both Harry and Draco reached down for it at the same time, and their hands touched conspicuously.

"Oh, sorry..." said Harry, a rosy blush coloring his cheeks. Draco noticed it and blushed too as he reluctantly pulled his hand away and let Harry retrieve the apple.

"This is quite a lot of fruit." Draco said casually.

"Oh... yeah... I kind of miscalculated, to be honest. I'm not really good at shopping. Or cooking."

"I've seen you make potions, Harry. I know you're not particularly good at cooking."

"Some of that was Snape!" Harry defended automatically.

"Of course it was," Draco said delicately, smirking playfully.

"Well, what about you and Charms? I distinctly remember a smashed wine goblet."

_He remembered something like that from the day we sat our OWLs?_ Draco thought, incredulous. He himself barely remembered the incident. The only reason he did was because he'd been so embarrassed at having messed up that simple charm in front of the other teen. "One mistake, Potter. The rest of my examination went swimmingly."

"Of course," replied Harry in good-natured mimicry of Draco's earlier tone. But the Gryffindor was evidently not a very good mimic at all; he managed to keep a straight face for all of two seconds before, simultaneously with Draco, bursting into laughter at the ludicrous voice he'd affected.

Just being in Harry's presence made everything that much funnier, like an infusion of Laughing Draught, and before long Draco was clutching his ribs as he fought the urge to roll around. Such behavior was surely undignified... _Harry doesn't care_, his mind supplied, and it was right. So he gave up all pretenses and allowed himself to slide down to the floor wracked by gales of laughter.

This was not a good idea, however. His ribs were newly healed and still very sensitive, so that the laughter quickly faded as a dull ache started. It must have shown in his face (Draco remembered a time when he could school his face into a perfect, inscrutable mask, betraying no emotions whatsoever. Granted, it did tend to slip in front of Harry more frequently than other people, but it had never been this bad. Perhaps some of the brunette's openness was rubbing off.) because Harry, who had stopped laughing rather quickly, kneeled down in front of him, concerned.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, don't worry," he assured.

"Okay," Harry said, guiltily. After a few seconds studying Draco's face, he declared, "You should let your hair fall loose like that more often." The force of the laughter and his ensuing squirming had evidently broke the hold of the charm he'd used to slick back his hair today, Harry having intercepted him before he could get to the loo and the more reliable gel that took its place. He glanced at the mirror to his right and then stood up and quickly crossed to stand in front of it.

His hair fell in gentle strands around his face, shifting as he moved his head, occasionally brushing against his cheek. It somehow softened the angles and lines of his face, and suddenly he looked younger, finally his proper age... more carefree, he summarized to himself, and a timid smile rose to his lips.

"I like it better that way," said Harry softly, before he turned away with burning cheeks.

Secretly, Draco did, too.

**Harry finally gets a clue! About time, too, LOL. Hopefully I've done alright explaining his thought process there... **

**ANYWAY, I'm taking this moment to once again thank all of you for reading this story, and especially for you reviews, favorites, and alerts. They really, really make my day and encourage me to keep on writing. So, here's me wishing a _VERY_ Merry Christmas (or whatever holiday you celebrate at this time of year) to all of you and your families. **

**Love,**

**AmayaSora  
**


	14. Chapter 14

Harry was happy. He couldn't deny the fact that he was happy, and that the cause of that happiness was being around Draco. It was cruel, in the long run, to expose himself to so much of the man's charms when he figured it couldn't last, but he couldn't stay away. Not when his heart wanted him near, and especially not when they were making such progress.

The repairs had started with the entrance hall, a fairly neutral area. Cleaning spells of various kinds make quick work of the floors and carpets; Harry caught Draco's brief triumphant smile as the frayed edges mended themselves at his command. Next came burnishing the lamps that hung from the ceilings and walls, which unfortunately had to be done by hand.

That did provide plenty more opportunities to talk, though, which Harry enjoyed immensely. The more he got to know Draco the more in love he became- see, he was even allowing himself to use that word without a guilty pang in his heart, without feeling like he was a traitor.

About three hours in, Draco had had to stop briefly because his wrist was getting sore. Harry chose to break, too, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Whew! That's harder than it looks."

"It certainly is."

"It's going to look great once we're done, though."

"Yes..." said Draco sadly. "But not as great as before. We had vases and portraits and statues lining this hall. Right there-" he pointed to the spot next to the door- "there was always a bouquet of flowers, a different kind every day, that my father would conjure for Mother. She'd place them there in a little white vase and it would make her smile every time she walked past it." He sighed at the memory.

Harry grew thoughtful. "Wonder where those things got to..."

"You don't know?" Draco was surprised.

"No... should I?"

"I suppose not," he said evenly. "But I figured you did; you hadn't asked, and you ask an awful lot of questions."

"So I've been told," said Harry with a grin. "Do you, er, want to tell me? You don't have to, but I would like to know..."

He rolled his eyes fondly. "Of course you do." He suddenly grew sad again. "The Aurors took it all. Not the ones from your class- conflict of interest- but the older ones. They came in and carted it all away. Reparations," he elaborated on seeing Harry's confusion.

"Wow, Draco... I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. We picked the wrong side."

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Harry spoke again, enthusiastic over some new plan. "I bet we could find someone to recreate the pieces! Or, I don't know, buy them back." The department had probably sold the non-Dark pieces at auction. "I'm sure for enough money..." he trailed off at seeing Draco's face. "What's wrong?"

"I don't exactly _have_ 'enough money', per se." Merlin, it cost him a lot to admit that, having been taught from birth that money equalled status and the family fortune was what made them great. "The Ministry froze most of our assets."

Harry took a while to digest that. "They already took your stuff! What do they need to do that for?"

"Prevent a relapse, I suppose. They figure if they can keep the funds locked up, there's no chance of me using them to, I don't know, start up a neo-Death Eater training camp or something."

"That's ridiculous! You'd never do that!" Draco smiled at Harry defending him. After a pause, the green-eyed man spoke again. "That's what you've been doing since the trial, right? Trying to earn more money?" Draco nodded. "How?"

"Odd jobs here and there. People were quite reluctant to hire me... well, most people anyway." The things he'd done... he suppressed a shudder. But he'd been desperate to restore the family fortune and prestige, to restore its honor. Now he was beginning to wonder if they really were the same thing.

"I'm sorry," said Harry again; if he guessed what kind of people _had_ hired him, he refrained from comment.

"So am I," he said, and picked up his lamp again.

xxxx xxxx

The days passed quickly as Harry continued to eat into the time Robards had given him, now including the two-week extension he'd been grudgingly granted. Even he knew better than to ask for any more. Luckily, they were making a good deal of progress with the repairs, going from room to room as Draco felt comfortable.

With considerable shock they had found six or seven peacocks loose in the kitchens; how they got there was a mystery; perhaps the fleeing house elves had thought it an interesting prank. Their pure white feathers littered every surface, along with a variety of less pleasant leavings.

Harry was amused by the birds and their movements, which in his opinion tended towards awkward rather than graceful. "Why are they all white?" he asked as one ran by his legs.

"Father thought they looked elegant, so he bought them this way."

"Right," he said, returning his attention to the birds. Maybe they were elegant, but they were certainly far too monochromatic for Harry's tastes. "What do you think of them?"

"They're alright, I suppose, though I do find them to be a bit boring, to be honest."

"Me too," said Harry, and he pulled out his wand. Aiming at the animal who was standing still, he cast a Color-Changing Charm, and the bird's feathers exploded in a palette of iridescent blues and greens. "That's better," he said.

Draco stood, amazed. "If my father would've seen that..." he said wonderingly, with a shake of his head. Then, with a glance at Harry for courage, he pointed his own wand at another bird and repeated the feat. This one turned out indigo and violet.

Harry let Draco take over the coloring from then on; he felt it was an important step, somehow, to making the Manor what _he_ wanted it to be, to start a new legacy rather than continuing the one left by his ancestors. While Draco cast, Harry took charge of rounding up the dyed peacocks and herding them outside, where their bright colorations shone in the sun.

At last there was just one left, and when Harry returned for it, he found Draco standing there, staring intently at it as it paced nervously. "I don't know..." he said as Harry walked up behind him. "Should I leave this one alone? As a sort of momento?"

"That's up to you... what things do you want momentos of?"

Draco looked up at Harry; though he was considered tall, the raven-haired man beat him by an inch. He faced the peacock again and spoke the spell with earnest intensity. As the bird raised its head, a steady stream of green flowed over its plumage to create a glorious emerald coat. It paraded out of the open door of its own accord. Harry, awed, watched it go with eyes exactly the same shade as its feathers.

xxxx xxxx

Since Draco had been back at the Manor, his nightmares had become more frequent until he had them nearly as often as he did before Harry, sometimes multiple ones a night. They weren't as bad as the one from Grimmauld Place, thankfully, and he was able to control himself afterward. Still, Harry had taken to sleeping on the couch in Draco's bedroom, so that he'd be on hand to wake him when the dreams began. Nearly all of them took place in the unobtrusive little room off of the main hallway, whose door was firmly closed and locked- but Draco still avoided walking past it. Finally, they could avoid it no longer: they had to tackle the drawing room.

He stood at the threshold for an impossibly long time, it seemed, unable to raise his arm and open the door. Harry reached out and grabbed his hand and lightly tugged him around to meet his eyes, which were underscored with dark bags from nights of disrupted sleep. "You need to do this, to face the memories. It'll be okay; I'm right here."

Draco nodded, drinking in the sight of those emerald orbs, and before he had time to psych himself out pushed the door. It swung inward with an echoey creak. The first things he noticed were the shards of the chandelier, sharp as knives, scattered on the floor and reflecting the sunlight in all directions, little prisms, throwing odd shadows into sharp relief.

Harry nodded in encouragement, and the man's smile acted as a stimulant to Draco, giving him the impetus he needed to pick up his foot and then put it down again on the other side of the doorway. The room hadn't been used in so long that a cloud of dust rose up.

The curtains half-covering the windows swung fully open at the movement of Harry's wand, and suddenly every detail was visible. The rich carpet; Voldemort had paced it many times, him and his evil followers, twisted people... the mahogany table where they'd all sat, planning terrible acts... where he'd watched a teacher murdered right in front of him... Beyond it, in the garden, was where the Dark Lord had punished them all for letting Harry and his friends escape, was where he himself had been forced to do the same to others, people he knew, people who didn't deserve it... no one deserved that.

Draco felt Harry tense, too, upon entering the room. He must've been sure he would be killed, and his friends too. He knew enough to know how much it must have cost him to hear Hermione's screams, and be unable to do anything... and Draco had helped make that happen, had listened to Bellatrix's orders and had fought against the good guys, firing spell after spell in blind terror, too weak to stand up for what he knew was right...

It was too much, the memories, everything he'd done... he deserved no part of the kindness in Harry's eyes as he kneeled in front of where Draco had fallen to the floor, knees giving way... he _deserved_ his miserable state... all the pain...

"Draco," pleaded Harry, but the blonde kept his tear-stained gaze on the floor. Gentle yet firm hands cupped his chin and brought his face up, forcing his eyes to lock with Harry's. "Draco..." All it took was his name, his first name spoken with so much feeling, and he lost control entirely, giving way to heart-wrenching sobs. Harry was far too good, far too kind, to have faced so much hardship... and so much of it had been caused by Draco... by his family and their choices...

Draco felt Harry pull him into his chest, arms wrapped tight around his shaking form. He rested his cheek against Draco's head, softly crooning "Shh... it's alright... shhh..." and Draco focused on the voice, and breathing, and the feel of Harry's warmth against him... slowly, achingly slowly, he was able to stem the tide of tears and sit up, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe. His mother would've had a fit, but she wasn't here, she was lonely in Azkaban... something else that was his fault...

"Hey..." said Harry softly. "Hey, now. It's all in the past, Draco. All in the past. You can start over, try again. You can let go."

He still stuttered from the aftermath of his fit. "N-no, I c-can-can't. They're ev-everywhere, the rem-reminders-s; I ca-can't- there's too m-many... too m-much... Ever-verything was t-tainted by him, H-Harry, no-nothing is l-left, I c-can't-t."

Harry pulled him into a hug again, his breath warm on Draco's ear as he whispered. "They haunt you, don't they? They still haunt you... oh Draco... we will make it better. I promise."

Somehow, because it was Harry saying it, with his voice so low and earnest, and because Potter always kept his word, somehow, Draco found he could almost believe that.


	15. Chapter 15

The early May night was pleasant, not too cold, not too hot. Stars shone brightly overhead, and the moon cast a silver glow through the smoke slowly circling it, rising from the bonfire in the back garden of the Manor.

Harry had helped Draco to gather all of the contents of the drawing room- carpet, chairs, table, wallpaper, even the gilded mirror that had been handed down from his grandfather- everything that reminded Draco of his mistakes, and piled it in a tall heap on the cobblestones next to his mother's prized rose bushes.

As the sun set, they stood side by side watching the orange light spread over the grounds, which were peaceful and still except for the peacocks meandering slowly amidst the trees.

Together, they had raised their wands as darkness fell and firmly intoned "_Incendio_," causing great flames to spring up over the objects, engulfing them, forever destroying those triggers, those ghosts. As the flames climbed higher, Draco felt a sense, for the first time in two years, of_ rightness,_ peace, and some measure of closure. And, looking over at the man sprawled next to him, transfixed by the blaze, he realized just how much Harry meant to him, how- even though he thought it impossible- his love for him had grown. Just looking at him made him breathless, dizzy.

Harry glanced over at him, and their eyes locked again, and Draco must've swayed, because Harry's contented smile fell into a faint frown. "You okay?"

"I'm wonderful," he responded emphatically. Harry looked a bit skeptical, but said nothing. Fixing his eyes resolutely on the flames, Draco felt his mind travel back to another night, another fire, this one terrible and fierce, deadly. And his savior swooping down out of the smoke, the first time he'd grasped Harry's hand, ever, had been when the man pulled him to safety, saving his life. He had to tell Harry how he felt; there was no way he could ever leave him again unless the Gryffindor knew that Draco loved him... and maybe, just maybe, he'd been reading the signs right and Harry- well, one step at a time. Taking a steadying breath, Draco spoke again, soft voice carrying through the still night air. "I lied to you before."

"Oh?" said Harry, confused by the sudden admission.

"Before, when you asked me why I didn't turn you in... you know, when-" Harry quickly nodded, saving Draco from articulating the incident. He wasn't ready for that yet. "I didn't turn you in because... because I couldn't fathom a world without you in it, a world without hope and courage and love. I couldn't have lived in a world like that."

Harry was stunned into silence by the admission, said so guilelessly it had to be true. Equally softly, he said "I lied to you, too. About the fire. I saved you because, well, I saw something worth saving, some_one_ worth saving... someone with goodness in them, despite what they'd done in the past. I saw _you_," he finished, blushing cheeks hidden by the surrounding darkness.

"Harry..." Draco said, and the man looked up to find those silver eyes boring into his, wide and earnest and, as always, beautiful. Right now, though, there was something else there, something that caused them to burn with an intense inner light... Harry's breath caught. Could it really be-

A crash, echoing around the enclosed garden, broke through the moment. Draco's head snapped up, eyes fearful now, roving the area, searching the darkness for the source. Harry's Auror training kicked in, and he rose slowly, drawing his wand as he did. He stood still, listening, and heard the sounds of footfalls coming from behind them.

He turned to face them as Draco stood, too, shrinking slightly behind Harry. Harry moved instinctively in front of him, back straight and eyes hard.

A figure emerged from the darkness, a burly outline at first until he entered the fire's glow and with a jolt Harry recognized the auburn-haired man from the abandoned house all those weeks ago. The rest of his band filed in around him in a threatening semi-circle.

Behind him, Draco gave a little gasp and stepped automatically backwards. He slipped a bit and teetered unsteadily before Harry reached out to grab him. The men all looked surprised- unpleasantly so- to see Harry there. Three out of the four backed up a bit, but the leader held firm, even if he did look uneasy now.

"What are you doing here?" Harry said commandingly; off-duty or not, he was still an Auror.

"I could ask you the same question," the man said. Peering around him, he called "Law's caught up with you, eh, blondie?"

"That's none of your business!" said Harry sharply. "Now, I asked you a direct question."

The man drew something from his pocket and tossed it carelessly to the ground at Harry's feet. It rolled away a bit, and Draco, recognizing it instantly, bent to retrieve it. It was the jade jaguar figurine, the last thing his father had magically whittled for him before he left for school all those years ago. He turned it over in his hands, frowning thoughtfully.

"Came to collect," the brute said. "Malfoy there owes us."

The sneer the man put on his name cut through all of Draco's confusion. He tightened his fist over the talisman; regardless of what they'd done, his family deserved more respect, especially from low-lifes like that. He slipped it into his pocket, from which he also drew the small bag of gold he'd been given (for some reason, he'd never taken out of his pocket). Disdainfully, he threw the money at the man.

"Take your money. I don't need it."

The guy leered. "It ain't about the money anymore. It's about _payback_. You screwed us over... we paid you for services and we intend to get them." Once Draco had stepped forward, the other goons had reformed their tight line, and all three glared malevolently.

"What are you talking about?" snapped Harry angrily, glaring at the opposing group and shifting so he stood forward of Draco again.

"Harry, don't-" Draco began, but one of the thugs, a brown-haired one, cut across him. "Look, Potter, we don't want trouble. You don't need to be here. We'll take care of him."

Harry didn't like the sound of that at all. "I'm not going anywhere until you lot explain yourselves. You've broken onto a private property in the middle of the night; if that's not suspicious- and _illegal_- I don't know what is."

The leader answered again. "We told you. This little git ran off with our money. Tracked him down from that jaguar thing; found someone who knew the family mascot. So we came to settle the debt. That's all."

"Well, he's paid you," said Harry fiercely. "So you can clear off."

"I thought you were supposed to be the good guy, Potter. Why are you defending this, this _criminal_?" The sandy-haired man who'd spoken looked absolutely shocked at his own daring.

"Like you guys are any better."

"We- we would _never _have joined You-Know-Who!" the sandy-haired man squeaked, reminding Harry unpleasantly of Wormtail.

"Draco's past has nothing to do with this," he snapped harshly. "I'm an Auror._ I_ will handle any criminal misdeeds. You lot had best be on your way."

They all shifted uncomfortably, but the leader's forbidding glare kept them in their places. "You don't understand," he said dangerously. "He's wronged us. He needs to be punished. Everyone knows you hate him, Potter; _you_ can't do anything about it, but we can. Just clear out now, and you'll never need to know about it."

"Don't presume to tell me how I feel!" Harry shouted, real anger beginning to flare up under his tough yet detached Auror persona. The thought of them doing anything to Draco was unbearable.

"Harry, please, you don't have to do this," said Draco pleadingly, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Yes, I do, Draco," he said firmly, eyes never leaving the leader's face. The mouth there twisted into an ugly grimace and a look of comprehension dawned on his face.

"What do you know, boys..." he said. "What is it, Malfoy, we're not good enough for you? Your snooty little arse has to have the _best,_ is that it? So you go for-"

"That's preposterous," Draco said, but his voice cracking and the half-step backwards he took ruined the effect he was going for.

"Now you have no excuses, blondie. Now we know _you_ like it, too."

"I'm warning you," said Harry loudly, pointing his wand directly at the man, blood pounding in his ears.

"We don't have a problem with you, Potter. Just him."

"You've_ made_ it my problem when you started this right in front of me!" Harry was bold, determined, adamantly refusing to back down and let these creeps do anything to Draco.

The leader seemed to realize there was no way around it. "It's four against two. Well, one and a half," he said bitingly with a pointed glance at Draco. "Or, no, not even a half; brat's too scared and spoiled to do anything. I don't care _who_ Potter defeated, he can't last too long four-on-one."

Two others nodded, but the sandy-haired guy looked uncertain, shaking his head slowly as his companions readied themselves for a fight. "This is your last warning, Potter."

"No, this is _your_ last warning," he said dangerously.

The brown-haired one broke in again. "Potter, we don't want to have to fight you... this just isn't worth it. Ask your little friend there, if you don't believe us."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place in Harry's mind. He'd known he'd seen that jaguar before, and Draco's reaction at seeing these men had been one of pure fear. These were the people responsible for giving him those horrendous injuries, for nearly killing him... his blood roared in his ears, anger entirely consuming him now. How dare they hurt Draco? How _dare_ they threaten him? He felt himself shaking with suppressed rage. "Get the _hell_ out of here. NOW!"

The sandy-haired man took off at a sprint upon hearing such venom in Harry's voice. His emerald eyes were steely, glaring daggers at the cowards in front of him. The leader looked a bit put off, but his voice was edgy. "Still three on one."

"Three on _two!_" said Draco fiercely, raising his own wand and stepping up so he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry. Harry had made him see that he was better than that, better than what he himself thought he could be, and he wasn't going to let these thugs- or anybody- push him around. Besides, they were threatening _his Harry,_ and that was unacceptable. For that, they needed to pay.

Harry's heart flooded with affection and pride at seeing Draco finally, finally learn to stand up and fight, to forgive himself and stop thinking he deserved misery. Without really thinking, he grasped Draco's right hand with his left, intertwining their fingers. "Together?" he whispered.

Draco nodded resolutely, and without giving their opponents time to react, in perfect unison they yelled "_STUPEFY!_" The magic flowed between them, as if they were one being with two wands, Draco's in his left hand and Harry's in his right. Draco felt the power course through him, Harry's magic and his joining in a single current, a tingling feeling passing through his body. Some of Harry's power was channeled through his wand as some of his went through Harry's.

It amplified the spell tenfold, and the red light traveled like a shockwave, sizzling through the air, sending all three remaining men flying backwards before they landed with sickening crunches feet away.

Draco was shocked. He'd read about spell amplification before, in one of his mother's books, and although multiple people simultaneously casting always produced a stronger effect, this was different. Their actual magic had joined together of its own accord, working in tandem, with far stronger results than either could have anticipated. The book had said that that only happened with-

"True love," said Draco weakly, sinking to the ground. He was still holding Harry's hand, and so he ended up pulling the other man down on top of him.

"Wh-what?" Harry said incredulously. He couldn't have heard that correctly.

"Spell amplification- _true _spell amplification like that only occurs when soul mates fight together," he said softly, shimmering eyes searching Harry's emerald ones.

"Do you really mean-" Harry's words were cut off with a kiss as Draco crushed his mouth to Harry's and flung his arms around his neck. Coherent thought was forgotten as Harry responded with vigor, running his hands through Draco's soft, silky hair. He eagerly opened his mouth to let Draco's tongue inside, exploring the new sensations. This was heaven, pure bliss, Harry decided. Kissing Ginny had never felt like this, never, not even at the height of their relationship. She'd never tasted as sweet or as good or fit this perfectly against his chest-

Draco pulled back. "Need to breathe," he panted as Harry tried to follow.

"Stupid oxygen," said Harry, coaxing a smirk and another kiss out of the blonde.

Slowly, their breathing returned to normal, exhalations merging together as they rested their foreheads against each other, limbs tangled in a sweet embrace.

Shakily, Draco said "Shouldn't we see to our visitors?"

"Technically, yes," Harry breathed.

"Mhmm," Draco agreed, but made no attempt to move from Harry's grasp.


	16. Chapter 16

**Happy New Year, dear readers! I hope 2011 will bring you all kinds of blessings :)**

**Speaking of time: I am going on a retreat this week and as such won't be able to update again until Friday at the earliest. Sorry about that, but hopefully this chapter has enough fluff to keep you going. There's so much here I practically exploded XD **

**-AmayaSora  
**

Harry had to go into work the morning after the incident with the gang, in order to fill out the necessary paperwork and smooth things over with the boss.

The raven-haired man was not at all happy about that; it meant the end of his leave (because once he went back to the office Robards sure as hell wouldn't let him off anymore) and more importantly, drastically diminished his time with Draco. A happy blush colored his cheeks as he thought of their kiss.

Ron, on the contrary, was delighted by the return of his best mate and partner. "The office just wasn't the same without you," he'd admitted. Harry had missed Ron, too, he supposed; truthfully, he hadn't really thought about his friend much, but he didn't mention that particular lapse.

Hermione was pleased to see him too. "Have a good holiday?"

"Fantastic!" he cried, and then blushed again. Hermione, perceptive as she was, obviously noticed this. She smiled dazzlingly. "That's wonderful, Harry."

"What did you do, anyway?" Ron asked; the trio was eating lunch together in the sunlit courtyard.

"Oh... just normal vacation stuff. Relaxing. Built a bonfire one night," he added, irrepressible grin rising again.

"And you didn't invite me? I love bonfires, Harry!" Ron whined.

"For the last time, Ron, he was on _holiday_. He's not obligated to bring you with him."

"I know that!" said Ron, coloring. "I was just joking, Hermione, sheesh. Do you even know _how_ to joke?"

Hermione huffed. "Just because I choose to spend my time on worthier pursuits than finding the next type of Dungbomb-"

"That's an important product for the shop!"

Harry smiled fondly as his friends' familiar bickering started up. Eventually, Ron would apologize and they'd kiss and make up as always. That's how their love worked. At that, his mind began to wander to his _own_ love, waiting at home...

xxxx xxxx

The next few weeks passed in blissful oblivion for Harry and Draco. The instant Harry would arrive back at the Manor after work, Draco would fling himself into his arms. The blonde seemed delighted each time Harry really did return, as if expecting that to change any day, for him to leave.

But, if Harry had his way, he wasn't going anywhere. He was deliriously happy, happier than he'd ever been, and he didn't care who knew it or its cause. Draco, though, was much more apprehensive, and so Harry gave in to his pleas and allowed them to keep the relationship under wraps. If he was honest, there was an extra dimension of excitement from that forbidden, secret nature; a shining golden bubble of love for them only, that they didn't have to share.

Hermione, of course, figured it out on her own. Harry was startled to find her and Ron's owl (Metis, a big brown owl that they used for long-distance messages, although Pig still made frequent deliveries to their London friends.) waiting for him on the outside banister. The owl was very like Hermione; she hooted shrilly, evidently having been kept waiting for quite a while.

Nervously, Harry took the package from Metis (it grew to its normal size as Hermione's Shrinking Spell lifted at his touch) and hesitantly tore open the card.

_'Harry,'_ it said._ 'Congratulations! I'm really, really glad that you've found someone who makes you so happy. Though I do wish you would have told me... Ron'll come around, after a while. I haven't said anything to him, don't worry; it hasn't been nearly close enough to 'a while.' Give Malfoy my regards, and warn him that if he ever mistreats you, in any way, he'll have a lot more than a slap to the face to deal with. Love from, Hermione.'_

_'P.S. Tell me what you think of the brownie mix! It's my own recipe; I modified my grandmother's to include a few magical ingredients I thought would really add to the flavor.'_

_'P.P.S. Metis' pointed look reminded me to whom I'm writing, and that perhaps I ought to spell this out: get Malfoy to help you make the brownies. It's so fun and romantic!'_

Harry scowled slightly at Hermione's comment on his intuition, although he grudgingly admitted that he wouldn't have thought to get Draco to help had Hermione not said it.

As usual, Hermione was right, and mixing the brownies together had been a lot of fun. Somehow, they got into a playful batter fight, which ended up with Draco having a splash of the stuff on his nose. He looked so adorable that Harry kissed it off of his nose before moving down to his lips, and that was a kiss full of chocolatey goodness.

It had also reminded Harry that the stores of food he'd brought were greatly diminished, and they'd seriously need to consider either learning to cook or getting some house-elves or else go hungry. Kreacher was being stubbornly reluctant to cook for them at the Manor; Harry wondered if maybe the elf was jealous that his master had suddenly started ignoring him. He vowed to be more attentive in the future.

It turned out that Draco was a pretty good cook; Harry supposed the skills required for advanced Potions probably helped in the culinary arts as well. At first he would just watch Draco putter around the kitchen gathering utensils, pans, and ingredients, but then the blonde had gotten annoyed at Harry's peculiar tendency to gaze dreamily at him and so obstruct his path. After that, he convinced Draco to let him help prepare the meals, so that by the time two months were up, Harry had learned a good deal more about cooking- and Potions- than even Auror training had provided.

As the days gradually warmed, the Manor's numerous rooms became cleaner and cleaner, and evidenced more and more of Draco's own touch rather than that of his father. He tended for more muted tones, except for green, which was always a vivid emerald that made Harry's heart swell, because he recognized the reason for the appeal that color had. Draco also downplayed the snake motifs and brought out the star ones; he had evidently paid a great deal more attention in Astronomy than Harry had, for they would frequently lie out in the gardens as Draco pointed out constellation after constellation.

There was another reason Draco was so well-versed in Astronomy; his mother's side of the family- the Black side- tended to name their members after stars or constellations. Harry eagerly relearned where the star Sirius was, and Regulus; when he looked at them, his heart filled with fond memories. But none of that compared to what he felt when he looked at the gleaming stars of the dragon constellation.

xxxx xxxx

It was a Tuesday night, and Harry was working late. Draco was meandering about his study (formerly his father's library devoted entirely to Dark literature), straightening things here and there, siphoning off imaginary dust, and generally trying to distract himself from the fact that Harry wasn't there.

He knew how much Harry loved his job, of course, and didn't resent it in the slightest... okay, maybe the _slightest_ bit, because it took Harry's time, and increasing amounts of it, too. He'd been promoted to a squad captain, one of four who were second in authority only to Robards, the department head. His lover fully deserved any and all such honors, of course, but it required him to work longer hours some nights.

Like tonight, he remembered drily, back to the thoughts from which he'd been trying to distract himself. Usually, he was okay with the extended hours, but he had rather hoped that today, June 5, today of all days- A sharp rap on the window brought him out of his thoughts. He frowned; this was on the second floor of the Manor; what could possibly be making such a noise, so different from the light scratching of an owl?

He padded over to the window and pushed it open, revealing nothing. He had started to turn away when a shock of black hair rose up. Harry was hovering outside his window astride his broom, gentle breeze playing with locks of hair. He was trying to fight the smile blossoming on his face.

Harry made a sweeping bow, complete with hand wave, and looked up at Draco. "Your chariot awaits," he said, and now he couldn't hide the smirk anymore.

"Harry? What-"

"A surprise," he said, eyes glowing with excitement. "Come on, hop up."

The old Draco would never have dared to climb out of a window onto a broomstick, but the new Draco was much more free, and he trusted Harry implicitly. He stepped up onto the settee in front of the window, then grasped Harry's hand and settled himself behind his lover, wrapping his arms contentedly around his waist.

"Where are we going?" he inquired as Harry began gliding away, pace relaxed.

"What part of _it's a surprise_ don't you get?" he said lightheartedly. Draco shrugged and snuggled into Harry's back once more, closing his eyes and just enjoying the togetherness.

He felt them land with a soft thud and before he could open his eyes found Harry's hand covering them. "Not just yet, Draco," he said mischievously.

A few dozen steps later and Harry removed his hand, allowing Draco to see the picnic spread out over the quaint checkered blanket (a decidedly Muggle convention, but one he enjoyed nonetheless). Harry had arranged all of his favorites, including the sweet potatoes that the Gryffindor himself hated.

"Happy birthday," he said, just the slightest bit of uncertainty in his voice, questioning whether Draco liked his present.

"I didn't even know you knew my birthday," he said softly, still gazing at the picnic.

"What kind of man doesn't know his lover's birthday?" he asked, grinning shyly.

Harry would never cease to amaze him, Draco thought wonderingly. He still couldn't believe his luck, some days. "This is wonderful," he said earnestly, and Harry beamed, holding out his hand.

Draco grasped it and let himself be led onto the blanket, where he sat down happily next to Harry and enjoyed the delicious meal. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Draco caught Harry's eye and smirked. "Thank Kreacher for the food, won't you?" He knew that although Harry was a passable chef, there was no way he could have cooked all of this himself.

Harry flushed. "It, ah... actually, Molly Weasley made it. Her cooking is always the best, and I figured you deserved the best." Draco smiled in spite of himself. "She's really sweet... like my surrogate Mum, really."

"Did she know whom she was making it for?"

"I told her I was having some acquaintances over, didn't mention names. I didn't reckon you'd want-"

Draco grabbed his hand. "Thank you," he said, wondering if Molly Weasley would have put in such effort if she'd known it was for him.

"I think she would," said Harry uncannily. "Cook even if she knew it was for you. She's not holding grudges either." _Well, except against me, when she finds out about Ginny..._ She'd sent him a ticket to her match, but Harry thought he'd much rather be home with Draco than in a noisy stadium. At any rate, Harry brushed those thoughts away. This was Draco's night. He gave his fingers a little squeeze.

Draco sat in comfortable silence for awhile, playing with the fingers on Harry's hand. His eyes began to wander, eventually coming to rest on Harry's broom. But, wait, was that Harry's broom? The handle was somehow sleeker, the polish darker, and the tail twigs not yet bleached by the sun.

"Did you... did you buy me a new broom?" he whispered wonderingly.

Harry beamed. "Yeah. You're so fond of Quidditch, but I'd never seen you play or heard you ask, and I figured you could use one."

It wasn't just any broom, Draco realized as he picked it up. This was a Firebolt 360, the newest model out there. His fingers traced the name reverently. "Wow..."

"Just the reaction I was hoping for," said Harry, now smiling so hugely it threatened to split his face.

"You didn't have to do all this..." Draco whispered.

"Yes, I did," said Harry, gently caressing Draco's cheek before leaning in for a soft, sweet kiss. From that day forward, pick-up Quidditch games were a common occurrence at Malfoy Manor. Both men were still as competitive as they'd always been, and, much to Draco's dismay, Harry still beat him every time, but it was great fun nonetheless.

Harry's birthday arrived in the blink of an eye. He woke up happily, head resting on Draco's bare chest, rising and falling soothingly with each breath the blonde took. Harry kept his eyes shut, enjoying the warmth and the smell of a subtle blend of ivory, citrus, and the barest hints of vanilla, a uniquely Draco scent.

If he had his way, he just wouldn't get up, merely lay there like that the entire day, but Robards had owled the night before saying he was taken ill and wouldn't be coming in that day, which meant that for Harry and the other captains it was all hands on deck to keep things running.

So he grudgingly got up and even more reluctantly Apparated away from Draco and the Manor into the Ministry and the chaos that currently was the Auror office. Kingsley had finally gotten around to reorganizing the department (a bit later than he'd originally thought, perhaps, but better late then never in Harry's opinion.) which made everyone on-edge... perhaps that was what had made Robards so ill.

At 1:30, Harry still hadn't had time to stop for lunch. He ran a hand through his hair, exhausted, and left his office for his next task when he almost ran into Hermione.

"There you are, Harry!" she said breathlessly. Evidently she'd had to weave her way through the bustling Aurors to reach him.

"What's up?"

"It's your birthday," she said, as if it were obvious.

"Er, yeah, it is. Listen, Hermione, this really isn't-"

"Malfoy's waiting for you in my office," she said conspiratorially after checking for eavesdroppers. "Go on, I've gotten Juliet to cover for you."

"'Mione, you are incredible," he said with a grin.

The witch smiled hugely. "Thank you, Harry. But it really was Malfoy's idea. I was so surprised when he contacted me, actually, but-"

"Draco contacted you?" he said slowly. Hermione nodded, and Harry, beaming yet again, Summoned his cloak from the rack rather than waste the extra seconds it would have taken to walk back and took off towards the Department of Magical Law. Draco cooperating with Harry's friends was certainly the best birthday present he could've been given.

He did indeed find Draco waiting for him, eyes flashing with excitement. The striking silver color always enthralled Harry. "Draco, what are you doing here?" he asked happily.

"Giving you your birthday present, of course."

Harry glanced around, but didn't see anything. "What's my-"

"It's a surprise," he said, smirking. He held out his hand for Harry, and the other took it. Draco spun on the spot to Apparate them both; Hermione must've gone through a lot of trouble to get the anti-Apparition wards taken down.

They appeared on a gently sloping hill near a small, clear lake. Though it was the middle of the summer, it was a pleasant temperature, neither too hot nor too cold. Draco dusted his robes for imaginary dirt and then looked over at Harry. He motioned for him to sit on the bristly grass, and Harry obliged.

Draco smirked devilishly at him- Harry's heart skipped a beat; _Merlin_ that was an attractive expression- and yanked his glasses off of his face. "Malfoy, what-"

"Uh uh uh, Potter. You'll ruin the surprise. Might as well keep your eyes closed."

Harry complied, grudgingly, and felt Draco shift closer to him so their knees brushed. "Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Interior Finland," he said. "Lake district."

"Wow, a lake in the lake district? Who'd've thought!"

"You need to work on your sarcasm."

Harry laughed and, though his eyes were closed, turned in the direction of Draco's voice and stuck his tongue out. He could almost hear Draco rolling his eyes.

"And why have we come to Finland's lake district?" Harry asked, with pompous emphasis on the last three words.

Draco shoved his shoulder lightly. "That's part of the surprise."

With a resigned sigh, Harry fell silent. He didn't like being without his glasses. After what seemed to Harry a very long time, but was probably only a few minutes, he felt Draco's hand on his cheek and his glasses slide back onto his face.

"You can open your eyes now," Draco said in Harry's ear. He did so, and was stunned by what he saw. A large black sphere covered a good chunk of the sun- a solar eclipse. And Draco had charmed his glasses so that he could look at without hurting his eyes.

It was such a beautiful sight, the bold glow of the sun seemingly amplified in the area framing the actual moon. Harry just watched in silent awe as the event slowly passed. If that wasn't magic, he didn't know what was.

Draco sat with his arms around Harry's chest and his chin resting on Harry's shoulder, peering over it at the sun. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Draco had procured a pair of glasses for himself, too, which sat squarely on his nose looking adorably out of place.

"Nice glasses," he muttered with a soft smirk. Draco didn't reply, simply tilted his head a little to plant delicious kisses on Harry's neck, sucking gently and making Harry squirm with pleasure.

"C'mere," Harry panted breathlessly, pulling his lover around onto his lap. "These are ridiculous," he said and yanked the glasses off rather hastily. But he wanted to look at Draco's eyes again, and he did, gazing into their depths before returning the favor of erotic kisses.

"I love you," Harry said at last, planting one last, soft kiss on Draco's warm pink lips. It was probably one of the best presents he had ever received- the simple beauty of it, the rarity, the thought and planning that went into it. Best of all was the knowledge that his lover really understood him and hadn't tried to waste time with some silly material possession. Those didn't matter to Harry.

Draco smiled."I love you too."

Harry thought it was the most extraordinary feeling in the world as his heart swelled at those words, floating up, lighter than air.

**(FYI, there really _was _an eclipse on July 31, 2000. I Wikipedia-ed it.)  
**


	17. Chapter 17

One day in mid-August, Harry came dashing in the door and unceremoniously threw his arms around Draco's neck, spinning them both around in a dizzying circle and kissing him passionately on the lips.

"Hello to you too," Draco mumbled dazedly. "What's the good news?"

"I got promoted!" Harry practically yelled, and in his excitement kissed Draco again. "Deputy Head of the Auror Office!"

"That's wonderful!" Draco cried, nearly as excited as Harry was.

"I know! Kingsley called me and Robards into his office this afternoon. You should have seen Robards' face... basically, this is a new position Kingsley's staff created as part of the restructuring. It's half administrative stuff- assigning cases and all that, and captains will report to me, and the other half field assignments if I want them." He grinned hugely

"You deserve it, Harry," Draco said earnestly, pulling his lover into a strong hug. "Deputy Head of the Auror Office... a bit hard to fit on your placard, though, isn't it? What with 'The Chosen One' and 'The Boy-Who-Lived' already on there," Draco said cheekily.

"Better than 'Snarky Git,'" he retorted, and dodged the couch pillow Draco launched at him.

Harry was really exhausted by the end of his first week on the job, however. He trudged in the door for dinner, bleary-eyed, and would sometimes be called away in the middle of the night by one of the many owls.

Draco was worried that his love would get sick from working himself too hard. So, over the weekend, he broached the subject. "You're sure putting in a lot of hours."

"Hmm? Yeah, I guess so," he yawned.

"Are you okay? I mean, you're not overworking yourself, are you?"

"No, no I'm f-f-fine," he said, in the middle of another yawn.

"Of course you are," said Draco with a roll of his eyes. "Seriously, Harry, level with me."

"Alright," he said. "It is a fair bit of work, yeah. A big part of it is the journey, though. It's pretty far from here to London, and for some reason Apparating long-distance makes me tired." He scowled; they'd found that out the hard way during Auror training, yet no one seemed to be able to explain it.

"Hmmm..." said Draco thoughtfully. "Suppose we move to London, then? Grimmauld Place is right there."

"But, we just finished fixing this place up! It looks so good now, feels homey."

Draco smiled. "Yes. But it'll keep. I want this to be as easy for you as possible."

"Thanks," said Harry quietly. "Yeah. Yeah, we can move to Grimmauld Place."

Kreacher was delighted to have his master back, a fact which he demonstrated with an elaborate meal and a long stream of chatter. Harry found that he'd rather missed the old elf too. Life at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was much the same as it had been at Malfoy Manor. The men chose the coziest bedroom for themselves- it happened to be the one Harry had taken Draco to on his first day- and settled in. This time Draco had brought some of his own possessions with him; for example, clothes, so he didn't have to constantly borrow Harry's. He did anyway, though, just for the smell.

When Harry wasn't working, the pair continued the task they'd began earlier in the year: cleaning the house. It had less rooms than Malfoy Manor, and as such took less time to clean. Kreacher was eager to help; Harry gathered from reading between the lines that Walburga Black's portrait had upset Kreacher with some of her comments concerning Draco and Harry- both of whom Kreacher adored; the elf was thrilled to see them together- and as such there was a bit of an estrangement.

One of the first things Harry did was to go through the Black library and chuck out anything Dark- in other words, about two-thirds of the collection. Some of the remaining books were quite valuable, according to Draco, so he elected to sell those and put the money (discreetly) into a fund for Draco, connected to his family vault but entirely separate from it. Now the blonde had some money to work with. Draco appreciated the gesture, but wasn't as thrilled as he would have been before; he'd realized the importance of other things beside money.

They also cleaned Sirius' mother's bedroom, known more recently as Buckbeak's hide out. That took a considerable amount of work, and all of the furniture inside had had to be destroyed.

The warmth of summer passed into the crisp chillness and varied foliage of fall. Harry spent much time going through the items in Sirius' old room, sharing memories of his dead godfather with Draco. Just Draco's presence had a calming effect on Harry, and he managed to get through the task with relative ease.

The lovers then began the redecorating phase of the operation. Harry made sure to install loads more lights, to brighten the place considerably, and convinced Kreacher to move the horrid house-elf heads to a different location.

The decorations he chose were mainly burgundy and silver, two colors that not only worked well in tandem but represented opposites- Gryffindor and Slytherin, ice and fire- coming together as one to create something lovely. Like he and Draco had. That, and the silver infallably reminded him of Draco's eyes.

At Draco's request, Harry allowed them to deviate from this theme for their shared bedroom, opting instead for golds and greens. Green for Draco (representing Harry's eyes) and gold for Harry (to match the way the sunlight- any light, really- glinted off of Draco's soft hair, which was now kept loose at all times, falling naturally around his face).

Other rooms remained relatively empty; the other bedrooms, for instance (with the exception of Regulus', which the boys had humorously dubbed The Noble and Most Ancient Room of Whining) which weren't needed with the current living arrangements.

The night of September first was mild enough that Harry and Draco lay out on the roof of Grimmauld Place, staring up at the stars once again.

It was still a bit odd to think of this date and not be going to Hogwarts, Harry thought. The last of his school acquaintances would be graduating this year. He himself felt like he'd been away forever. But it was a good forever, a happy one, he assured himself with a smile as he looked at Draco lying next to him.

The blonde turned his head to meet Harry's eyes. "You know, I used to hate trains," he said.

"Why's that?" Harry breathed, tickling Draco's nose, they were so close.

"Well, the Hogwarts Express was the only one I really knew, and it took me away from my family, thrust me into this whole new world."

"And now?"

"Now, I really like trains. They represent moving on, going new places, having new adventures… the start of new things. Excitement, possibilities. Change isn't always bad."

Harry leaned forward to capture Draco's lips in a kiss, sweet and soft. "No it isn't, love. It really isn't."

xxxx xxxx

Fall was a really good season for Draco, Harry often mused as he and his love wandered Muggle parks. He found the other man gorgeous all the time, but something about the fall made him seem to come alive. The reds, oranges, and yellows in their vibrancy brightened Draco's own skin tone and coordinated quite well with his hair, and the wind was just cold enough that it lightly pinked his cheeks, making it seem like he was forever blushing.

Harry was amused when he discovered that Draco didn't really understand the Muggle conception of Halloween. He tried to explain it, but failed, and so settled for dragging Draco out to a bench in the square to watch the children parade past. Draco, surprisingly, thought the concept was very sweet, and even popped over to a local Muggle market to grab candy for the young kids.

With Harry's encouragement, Draco managed to pluck up the courage to apply for a job at an apothecary, where his Potions skills served him well. The shop was just starting out, which Draco largely suspected was the only reason the owner hired him- desperation, in other words- but he found he quite liked it. And, after about a month, business was really starting to pick up.

Just as Harry marveled at the autumn Draco, the blonde couldn't stop staring at Harry in the snow. His dark hair and vivid eyes stood out starkly against the pure white flakes, and they clung to his lashes, making him blink often, which Draco thought was cute. It also made his skin tone seem more golden by the absence of other color, which made some sort of poetic sense to Draco, for Harry had been his light for nine months now.

Winter also provided plenty of opportunities for snuggling, wrapping up in single blanket and sipping hot cocoa or tea, feet teasing each other as they talked. One of the happiest times for both of them occurred when a massive snow fell overnight, and the pair mutually decided to skive off their jobs for a day and just have fun.

They made a huge snowman, dressed vaguely like Dumbledore. Draco was just putting the finishing touch- a pair of half-moon spectacles he'd found in one of the drawers somewhere- when a big, wet something hit him in the back of the head and slid down his robe.

He spun around to find Harry standing there, laughing, with his Gryffindor scarf pulled up to his nose and another snowball clutched in his hand. He launched it at Draco, who twisted out of the way, and took cover behind the snowman Dumbledore. As he was trying to pack some snow into a ball, it suddenly dawned on him that he'd never actually been in a snowball fight before; his parents and his friends' parents had all found it primitive and "Muggle" and hadn't even told their children such an activity existed. He'd seen them done at Hogwarts, of course, but never been invited to join.

He hastily created a few snowballs and took them in his hands, peering cautiously around Dumbledore's belly. Harry was nowhere to be found. "What the-" he began, turning back around, only to have a huge pile of snow land directly on his head from Harry, who grinned mischievously and set off at a run.

Draco followed, dodging projectiles as he went, and even lobbing some of his own. Harry ducked to avoid the last one and turned to face the blonde, face flushed from cold and exercise. "Looks like you need to work on your aim," he joked.

"Do I, now?" Draco called back, smirking. He twitched the wand behind his back and the snowball he'd enchanted changed course and hit its target: Harry's back. The look on his face was priceless, confused and flustered, but with grudging admiration, and Draco ran over to him to deliver a passionate kiss that sent Harry off of his feet and, next second, both of them sprawling in the snow.

Eventually, they parted, and Harry brushed a small snowflake off of Draco's nose. Silver eyes shone with love as he bent for one last peck before rolling off of Harry. The raven-haired man didn't rise, though, instead began moving his arms and legs in increasingly wide arcs. "What are you doing?" Draco asked.

"Making a snow angel," Harry said, carefully rising from the ground. Draco looked down and did see the outline of an angel. "You've never done that before?" Harry inquired softly.

"No," he said, and when he glanced up he saw a coating of snow on Harry's dark hair, almost like a halo. "It's very fitting, though."

Harry smiled, a faint embarrassed one. "Your turn."

"What? I couldn't."

"Go on, it's fun."

Draco looked skeptical, but to humor his lover he lowered himself to the ground and moved his arms and legs, feeling ridiculous. "There. I don't see how-" he stopped abruptly when he saw that his outline really did look like an angel; he was sure that it wouldn't work properly for him.

Harry wrapped his arms around the other's waist, leaning close to whisper "It's perfect."

xxxx xxxx

Christmas was there before they knew it. The drawing room in Grimmauld Place had been furnished with a handsome evergreen decorated with magic candles that wouldn't light the branches on fire, red and gold baubles, and delicate crystal snowflakes that shone silver. The fire roaring continually in the hearth was cozy, radiating warmth, just as the occupants of the house exuded happiness out of every pore.

Harry got a tremendous amount of presents, lots of them from assorted well-wishers whom he'd never met but were grateful for his sacrifices. Those he quietly stacked in a corner to deliver to various Wizarding charity organizations. Draco noticed that he took special care to open and enjoy the gifts his friends bought him, though. Luna Lovegood- a girl Draco remembered vividly from her time as a captive- had sent a horrid pair of lime-green and maroon earmuffs which she claimed were made from Blibbering Humdinger feathers. Mrs. Weasley sent her usual ludicrously large package of baked goods and a sweater, a neutral slate grey this time, though.

Ginny had given Harry a handmade card and a pair of socks in the Harpies' colors. That was a bit of a tense moment for Draco, watching Harry's reaction anxiously. He frowned slightly at the card before passing it wordlessly to Draco. It said mostly inconsequential things about her training, but there were definite hints of her continued feelings for him. He finished reading and looked up to find Harry still frowning deeply. "How am I ever going to tell her?"

In spite of himself, Draco felt a surge of happiness; Harry was still choosing him! "I'm sure we'll think of something, love," he said, followed by a reassuring hug. That seemed to cheer Harry slightly, and he reached for the next present.

Ron had purchased the traditional Chocolate Frogs, though this time he'd also sprung for a new cauldron, remembering that Harry'd been complaining about the old one Kreacher used to cook being fairly rusty. Or, perhaps it'd been Hermione who remembered, though she herself gave him a handsome new traveling cloak.

To Draco's astonishment, Hermione had gotten him something, too: a full set of eagle quills and accompanying ink. He blinked at it, overwhelmed. He hadn't thought to get the witch anything besides a card...

"Don't worry," Harry said with a smile. "Hermione'll love the card you sent her. She's really into getting letters... actually, don't be surprised if you get a novel back. She's prone to doing that."

Draco said nothing, still overwhelmed that the witch he'd been crueler to than any other was as able to forgive and accept him as she was. Harry slid his hand into Draco's. "'Mione's just like that. And..." He trailed away with a faint blush. After a glancing shyly up at Draco, he continued, "And she says that she's seen how happy you make me."

Draco didn't trust himself to speak. Harry let them sit in silence for a while, and then, to lighten the mood, questioned "So, where's the present from _you?_" Draco smirked and leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear, causing the black-haired man to blush violently and tremble in anticipation.

xxxx xxxx

Harry tugged Draco's hand nervously. On Christmas afternoon, the brunette had put a blindfold on his lover and Apparated them both to the Manor, although Draco didn't know that was where they were. He was grateful that Draco had changed the wards to allow him direct access to the grounds; it made everything so much easier.

Harry brought them to a stop and bit his lip. He thought Draco would like the gift, but he wasn't positive... he just wanted so badly for this holiday to be perfect for him- their first Christmas together should be special. Without giving himself any more time to fret, he reached over and pulled the blindfold off.

Draco just stared, dumbstruck, at the sight in front of him. The fountain in the center of the Manor grounds stood before him, entirely repaired, marble surfaces gleaming in the December light, intricate carvings perfectly restored. The Dark Lord had destroyed it in one of his rages, so completely that Draco doubted it could ever be repaired. The attempts he'd made had confirmed that assumption.

"I asked Taylors in Magical Maintenance for advice," said Harry sheepishly. "Took a few specialized spells, but I think I did okay."

"It's... it's more than okay," said Draco, voice thick with emotion. "It's... it's bloody brilliant."

Harry beamed; it took a lot to get Draco to curse. "And, ah, I also... well..." he tapped his wand against the base, and suddenly a stream of water shot out of each of the unicorns' horns, pointing inward and combining to form ever-changing patterns in the center of the fountain, where a noble jaguar stood proudly on its plinth.

Draco was silent for a long time. Harry glanced over at him, and saw tears streaming down the other man's face. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

And as Draco stood there, staring at the fountain that was his mother's- and his- prize decoration, feeling Harry's arms around him, the joyful tears continued to flow.


	18. Chapter 18

**HI everyone! Thanks for your patience in awaiting this update. I appreciate all of you :)**

Moonlight filtered in through the window, falling softly across the bed where two men slept. The blonde hair of the one mixed with the black hair of the other, so close together were they, bringing out both hues in equal measure.

The blonde's eyes fluttered briefly and opened. He smiled as he watched his lover's handsome face, less than two inches from his, blossom into a smile of its own at his dream. Since their first night in bed together, neither of them had had nightmares, despite the lingering memories of the war.

Now other memories supplanted them in both of their minds; Draco thought of radiant smiles, sparkling emerald eyes, flushed faces, throaty whispers, tangled limbs, waves of pleasure... Yes, he thought with a contented sigh, with Harry curled up next to him, nothing could bother him.

As he closed his eyes in preparation for his return to sleep, a soft scratching reached his ears. He wondered if that had been what woke him in the first place; he had always been a very light sleeper, waking up at the slightest touch or noise, except those that he himself made.

Unhappily, he opened his silver eyes again. Even more unhappily, he wrenched his gaze away from Harry's face to look awkwardly over his shoulder out the window. Sure enough, an owl hovered there, talons brushing the glass to create that distracting noise.

He glanced at Harry again; the man was so peaceful and calm right now, obviously blissful in his dream. His heart swelled with love as he decided not to wake him unless the message was vitally important. He planted a soft kiss on Harry's forehead, right next to the lightning scar he so loved to trace, and the brunette smiled wider and snuggled deeper into the mattress.

Draco slowly got out of bed, so as not to jostle his sleeping lover, and strode to the window, unlocking it with a soft tap of his wand. He pushed the right pane open and held out his arm for the owl, who landed gratefully.

It wasn't an owl he recognized, certainly not Metis or Pigwidgeon or Luna Lovegood's owl Marcia. This one had broad shoulders, the same russet color as the rest of his luxurious feathers, and clear amber eyes. Draco frowned slightly; the owl was so well-bred it had to have come from one of the old families, but which one would be writing to Harry? No doubt someone wanting a favor or-

He stopped. The letter on the owl's leg was clearly addressed to him, Draco Malfoy. It said "Malfoy Manor" on it, but the owl had evidently tried there and came up empty for him to turn up at Grimmauld Place. Frowning, Draco removed the parchment, weighing it heavily in his hand. The owl took off with silent dignity and glided out the still-open window.

Draco crossed to the window seat to find a patch of moonlight to aid his murmured_ Lumos_ spell. This allowed him to see the handwriting better, and his heart leapt, then began to pound excitedly. _Could it really be?_

He tore the seal off of the letter and yanked it open, almost ripping it in his haste. It was true, it was from his mother! She hadn't written in so long; he didn't know if they were allowing prisoners to write from their Azkaban cells nowadays. It was dated February 24, 2001.

_'My Darling Draco,'_ she'd written, and the familiar greeting gave his heart another pleasant jolt. _'I hope that this letter finds you well. I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I was simply too excited to wait any longer, and your father is impatient to get an answer as soon as he can.'_

_'We have marvelous news, my dear: the Ministry has decided to release us after only three years of our sentence, because of our model behavior.' _Draco's heart leapt into his throat: three years... they'd cut a full two years off! That meant they'd be released this year, and by his mother's tone, fairly soon at that.

_'We are so thrilled by this development, as I am sure you are as well! We've missed you so much, darling, and I can't wait to hold you in my arms again.'_ He blushed slightly at his mother's words, but he was too happy to fully care about possible embarrassment.

_'Your father has so much to tell you; he's pacing behind me impatiently, awaiting his turn with the quill. I shall hand it over to him now. I shall see you very soon! Your loving Mother.'_

Draco's hands were shaking as he flipped the parchment over to see what his father had to tell him. _'Draco- I trust you are doing well? I have heard numerous favorable reports about your endeavors this past year; congratulations at being named co-owner of the apothecary shop. I have full confidence that you will run the business with the usual Malfoy flair.'_

A compliment from his father... Lucius Malfoy wasn't one to compliment lightly, and so he must really have meant it to have said so. It meant his father was proud of him... A small nub of confusion broke through his happiness. How had his father found out about the apothecary shop, much less the promotion? The latter had only happened a few days ago, and Draco certainly hadn't written to tell anyone about it, except for Harry of course.

He smiled; perhaps Harry had anonymously contacted his parents to tell them the news, knowing that despite how much Draco tried, he could never fully distance himself from his parents and craved their approval? Perhaps Harry had also been involved in getting his parents released early! It was just the kind, selfless action he'd come to expect from his lover, exactly Harry's kind of present to him. He grinned broadly and continued on.

_'As your mother has undoubtedly told you, we have secured our release from Azkaban fully reformed and ready to return to our lives. And, we hope, with added blessings.'_

_'We seem owe a large part of our early freedom to Mr. Asphodel Greengrass; perhaps you remember him from the holiday parties? Or, his daughter Daphne, your Housemate at Hogwarts?'_ This was certainly new to Draco; he vaguely remembered the Greengrasses; the whole lot of them had chocolate brown hair and pale blue eyes, and though they were wealthy enough to have been part of the old crowd, their prestige didn't stretch quite as far as Draco's family's had, because their blood wasn't quite as pure. Then again, the Greengrasses had remained neutral in the war, so now it appeared that they were in quite a prominent position.

It took him a while to remember all of that; life with Harry was so simple and happy that he hadn't thought about blood status at all. Well, he'd certainly have to thank Mr. Greengrass for his generosity (though he was a bit disappointed that it hadn't been Harry's doing. Thanking his lover was always so much fun... he grinned at the thought. After a quick shake of the head to get himself re-focused on the letter, he began to read again.)

_'You can rest assured that we will see that the proper gratitude is shown to the Greengrass family._

_'But, this is not even the best part of the news! I know it may be unpleasant to bring up the estrangement with the Parkinsons, given how fond you were of young Pansy-' _Draco snorted. More often than not that girl had been a source of nothing but vexation for him. He'd put up with her for the sake of appearances, but his feelings stretched nothing beyond ambivalence. Plus, he didn't like how easily she'd turned her back on him after the loss of his money and status.

_'- but I ask you to remain open-minded when I say that this may have been for the best,'_ his father continued. _'In talking with Mr. Greengrass we discovered that his younger daughter Astoria (only two years your junior) was quite taken with you when you met at the apothecary's this past week.'_

Draco wracked his brains... there had been a rather distinguished gentleman with brown hair in at some point, and he'd had a daughter with him as well. He hadn't really registered that he knew them, that they were the Greengrasses, because he'd just gotten back from a lunch with Harry and, as frequently happened after they kissed, his head was swimming.

Astoria had been pleasant enough, he supposed, although not until after he had told her his surname. She had the unmistakable bearing of a pampered, dare he say spoiled, youngest child of a pure-blood family, which Draco disliked give his newfound respect for people like Hermione and Luna- people themselves, in other words, not their upbringing.

He turned back to the letter. _'As I say, not only has Mr. Greengrass so selflessly lobbied for our release, he has also offered us the chance to join our families ever closer through your marriage-'_ Draco's eyes widened. _'-to the lovely Astoria.'_

His heart stopped, and the world seemed to spin. Marry Astoria? Those two words spun endlessly through his mind, vision going tunnel-like to the words on the page. _'marriage to the lovely Astoria... marriage... Astoria... marriage... marriage.'_

The Slytherin didn't know what to say. He couldn't- he had Harry, Harry, the most important thing in the world, the most wonderful, caring partner... Harry, the love of his life...

Dimly, he found himself reading the rest of his father's missive, only half of it sinking in._ 'Great opportunity for an advantageous alliance... prominent place in the fledgling new society...return the family name to its original greatness...'_

And then the sentences that cut him through to the core: '_You have done remarkably well, my son, and I am so proud of you for providing us with this wonderful good fortune. It is clear to me that you have finally embraced your duty, and that alone makes all of this hardship worthwhile.'_ His mother's hand, wobbly, because she'd been crying as she wrote it, concluded: _'Thank you, Draco. Thank you so much for getting me out of this horrid plight. With my undying love, Mother.'_

He was literally numb, unable to think or feel or move at all. He just sat there, letter clutched in his shaking fist. Slowly, his mind began to whirr, feeling spread throughout his body- but it was a cold feeling, a deep-seated dread that made him sick to his stomach; it literally took all he had not to throw up.

Because his parents were asking him to do the one thing that he could to repay them for their sacrifice, the plea deal, struck with the Ministry, where they served time for his crimes, and he walked free.

Tears began to fall, thick and fast. They'd given up so much... not just their freedom, but the respect of most of their peers as they pleaded for him time and again in front of the Dark Lord... his mother would have given her life for a chance to see him, if her lie to Voldemort had been discovered...

They were his family, his only remaining relatives who would speak to him. And family... family meant everything; even Harry agreed that family was-

_Harry._ Draco cast a quick Silencing Spell over the bed, and the door for good measure, and let himself begin to weep openly, loudly. His family, or Harry... that was the choice... he'd chosen his parents countless times before... images of Harry swam through his mind, laughing Harry, smiling Harry, blushing Harry, sleeping Harry, Harry, Harry, _Harry._

Suddenly, a different image burst forth: His father's horrible injuries from his refusal to allow the Dark Lord to turn his wand on Draco... his father taking his punishment for him, again... his father truly loved him, despite how he sometimes acted...

And Mother... Narcissa Malfoy had been his one solace for years, since the Dark Lord's return, for she alone had understood his reluctance, his fear... His mother's tear-stained face at their goodbye was imprinted in his memory forever; "For you, darling. It's all worth it, for you."

_For_ me, Draco thought. _For me..._ He moaned, a deep, heart-wrenching sound. He couldn't just abandon them, not now they were counting on him... his upbringing had shaped too much of his personality, too much for even Harry to fully reform him; he still believed in standing by your family at all costs... it's what drew him into the war to begin with...

He had a _duty_, as Father's letter said. Didn't he also have a duty to himself? A duty to find his own place, his own happiness? Perhaps he could talk to them, persuade them; his mother surely would-

But no. No, they'd never allow it, never allow him to be with a man, least of all Harry... they still partly blamed him for their fall from grace... and asking would just bring more shame, and anguish, and he couldn't do that to them, couldn't let his mother know how very miserable he was going to be...

Blinded by tears, he still managed to find ink and parchment, and, sobbing the entire time, to pen a letter to Harry, explaining, trying desperately to show him why he was doing this, why he _had_ to do this... it was the hardest letter he'd ever had to write.

When it was done, he charmed it to the mirror so only Harry could touch it... he felt his wand in his hand, acutely aware of its weight. The wand Harry had used to defeat the Dark Lord... the wand he'd saved for Draco, for two years... the wand he'd held when their magic combined in the spell amplification, the wand that held some of Harry's magic- a little bit of him with a little bit of Draco.

With an anguished cry he flung it bodily away from him, no longer able to bear touching it, seeing it, anything to do with the cursed wood. It spun across the room, but he didn't see where it landed. If he turned around, looked back at Harry, he knew he'd never be able to leave, to go through with this, to do what he must.

Tears still flowing, heart threatening to rip out of his chest, Draco tore down the stairs and into the street, Apparating on the spot, not caring if any of the Muggle neighbors saw him go.

**Poor Draco *teartear***


	19. Chapter 19

It was almost as if a different person sat on Draco Malfoy's bed, wearing his clothes and shoes and hair. His eyes were dull grey, not the shining silver they'd been in months past. His mouth was also twisted into a deep frown, an expression he'd not worn for half a year. But, that really was Draco, sitting there, staring blankly at the wall.

Today was his wedding day, March 2, 2001. Astoria had thought it would be cute to have a "Countdown to Love" wedding on 03/02/01 and used clock motifs on everything. Draco wouldn't have been excited regardless of what the theme was, but he thought this one especially was horribly pompous. He glanced at his pocket watch; it was half-past four, and the ceremony was slated to begin at 5:04 precisely.

He was completely ready, even dressed in his new robes, which were getting wrinkly from being trapped underneath him, but he really didn't care. Mother would smooth them out with a charm before the procession. For now, he was brooding by himself in the bedroom that had been his since childhood; now, of course, he and Astoria would take the master bedroom, and his parents would be moving to their villa in France.

He sighed, heavily. He'd reached the despondent stage of depression, where he just couldn't be bothered crying and screaming anymore. That, and he had the sneaking suspicion that he'd run out of tears. Not as if they did any good.

He shifted slightly, causing bedsprings to creak, but he thought he might have heard a faint _pop_ too. He glanced up, happening to be facing the mirror, and what he saw there made his heart leap. But he forced himself to calm down; surely he'd imagined it. He hadn't slept for days, and he was bound to-

"Draco."

He whirled around at the voice. And he knew that it _was_ really Harry, because if he imagined Harry he certainly wouldn't picture him looking so wretched, stubble coating his chin, terrible bags under his eyes, drawn expression on his face.

"How did you get here?" Draco whispered, eyes wide.

"Apparated. You haven't changed the wards."

Dimly, Draco realized this was true, was probably a sign. But he had to do this, he had to. There was no other way. "What are you doing here?" he asked, unable to keep the note of desperation out of his voice.

"A better question is what the hell _you're_ doing here."

"I... I told you. I tried to explain- I left a letter!"

"What, this?" Harry held up a very worn piece of parchment. "This is how you tell me that you're leaving me?"

"Harry! It's not- I'm not... that's not what-"

Harry continued on while Draco struggled to find a phrase to articulate his feelings. "It's not what you meant? But it's what you're doing... and all I have is this, and then you disappear off the face of the earth for _days_ so I can't find you and talk to you or-"

"I didn't disappear off the face of the earth! I was in France; Mother thought the sea air would-"

"You were relaxing on a _beach_ in bloody _France_ while I was going spare!" Draco winced in the face of Harry's anger. "Draco, it's like I don't even know you... _why?"_

Harry's voice broke a little one that one syllable, that one question Draco had been dreading. "I told you," he whispered brokenly. "In the letter. I told you, I, I, I can't abandon my family."

"You can't let them dictate your life for you, either!" Harry cried, crossing the room to stand nearer to Draco. "You don't owe them anything."

"Yes I do! I owe them my freedom."

"This isn't freedom!"

"Harry..." A sob ripped from his chest. That was right, this wasn't freedom, Harry was freedom. This was obligation and duty and everything he'd worked so hard to get away from... "You don't understand... I... they gave up_ everything_ for me, multiple times. They gave me their name, and even if I don't give a damn about it anymore, even if I'd rather be anybody else, _they_ still care, they still need it to mean something, and I can help do that...I can give them their lives back... get a missing part of _my_ life back..."

"This is _a_ life, Draco, but it isn't yours! Yours is back home, with me. Yours is pick-up Quidditch and starlit nights and snowball fights and, and,_ us_. Does any of that mean anything to you?"

"Of course it does! Those are my fondest memories, the happiest I've ever been-"

"Then why are you throwing it away? Because your father wants you to? Because your mother missed her tea parties and fancy dresses?"

"Harry..."

"No! No, Draco! You are being an idiot! Do you honestly think that your parents care more for their bloody name than they do for their only son?"

"Of course not."

"Yet all of this is supposed to be for their benefit! Draco, you being miserable won't help them be happy!"

"I know!" he shouted. "I fucking know that, Harry! You think I- if I had any other choice, I would-"

"You _do _have a choice! There's always a choice!"

"My choice is my happiness, or theirs!" he screamed, and the tears began falling. "I've been a selfish brat all of my life, and for once, _for once_ I'm doing something for the benefit of other people!"

Harry's anger seemed to deflate. "I'm really sick of all these self-sacrificing Slytherins..." he said, almost to himself. "Draco, what about _me_? You could do it for me..."

That made the blonde cry harder. "I'm so, so sorry, Harry... I... I can't even... you're stronger than me, than I'll ever be. You could- you deserve someone better..."

"I don't want anyone better," he said softly, and reached out to grab Draco's shoulder. "I want _you_. We can get through this together, explain it to them. Have you even tried to explain it to them?"

"They wouldn't understand."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, I do... Father, he... he despises you..."

"So? I'm quite used to that." Harry sank down next to Draco on the bed, where the blonde had collapsed dejectedly. "But _you're_ not..." he said quietly. "Draco. Draco, look at me." He knew he shouldn't, knew that if he did it would mean the end of any semblance of self control he had left. But he couldn't resist Harry's voice; he was hopelessly in love, after all. Tremulously, he raised his head, and seeing those soft emerald eyes he threw himself forward, towards Harry's lips.

But the other man had backed away. "No. You don't get it both ways, Draco. You choose me, or her. I'm not having any of this; I'm not going to be some mistress on the side."

"Harry..."

He placed the letter into the blonde's lap. "You signed that _'You will always have my heart, Harry, every piece of it. With undying love, Draco'_ Now's the time to prove it."

The blonde began to cry again. So much for having run out of tears. "Harry... I _do_ love you... this, this whole thing is killing me... but I... I love my family, too."

Harry looked about to cry himself. "I believe you," he whispered. "I believe you mean that...the moments we've shared, I _know_ it's true...you're my soulmate, Draco... that's why I'm not giving up on you. I'll wait. I'll wait for you to figure it out, to realize that this isn't the right decision. To find the courage and strength I've seen in you."

"Harry, I-"

"But I won't wait forever," he said, and his voice broke and his eyes filled with tears. "I love you, but I can't wait forever..."

Draco's heart was breaking again, watching the love of his life break down in front of him like that, _because _of him. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I wish..."

"So do I," said Harry brokenly. "Just, can you do me one thing?"

"Anything!"

"If you're going to make yourself miserable... if you're going to make me miserable, at least have the decency to treat Astoria right. None of this is her fault."

"I... I will," he said. Harry nodded once, curtly, and moved away. "Wait!" Draco cried desperately, latching onto Harry's arm. "You could just, just take me with you! We could run away, disappear!"

Harry gently pried Draco's hands off of him. "No we couldn't," he said, softly yet firmly. "I'm not letting you take the easy way out. Part of love is making the other person strive for better, for their best... you need to make this decision for yourself."

"Harry..."

"I'll be waiting, Draco," the black-haired man said, before disappearing with a heartbreaking _pop._

_xxxx xxxx  
_

Minutes later, an emotionally dead Draco stood next to Astoria Greengrass in the Manor's spacious garden, in front of the gently running fountain... the one Harry fixed for him... He choked back tears.

The service continued on, undaunted by his reluctance, and all he could think of was Harry, how he wanted him to come bursting in the gazebo, shouting "I object!" and pull Draco into his arms and kiss him. But that wouldn't happen; he would have to be the one to halt this, to fight for his love...

"I do," Astoria said, high voice wild with excitement.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, promise to care for Astoria, to help her when she's sick, celebrate when she's well, share all of your thoughts and dreams, to let your happiness multiply hers, your blessings fall to her as well, to love her forever as your wife?"

_Harry... I'll love Harry forever... always... my heart is his, nothing left for Astoria, I can't do this, this isn't right... I just need to say one name, two syllables... _For Draco had felt, with that sixth sense born of love, that Harry was in the garden, watching, under his Cloak perhaps, and the instant Draco said his name he'd be right there, pulling Draco into his arms. He looked down at Astoria's bright, innocent face, wide eyes... His heart shattered into even more thousands of pieces as he said "I do."

He heard a loud, heart-wrenching sob from somewhere to his left, and knew that he had disappointed Harry... that Harry was gone.

"You may kiss the bride," and he did, but it was awful, not even a spark, and he was crying his eyes out... Astoria thought it was from happiness, hopefully. Mechanically, he crossed his wand- a walnut one they'd had lying around the Manor, because his real one was at Grimmauld Place, with Harry... where he should be- with Astoria's and shot the required sparks, but they sputtered and died too soon... when asked later he would pass it off on the new, unfamiliar wand.

"Presenting Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy!"

The flood of well-wishers descended on them, and Draco affected a smile. Now his practiced mask was coming back, the one he'd been able to drop when he was with Harry... his mother was crying as she pulled him into a hug, his father smiled proudly at him over her shoulder.

"Many happy returns!" "Lots of happiness!" "I'm sure you'll be so happy together." If only they knew... he'd never be happy again. But, he could make Astoria happy, he would make her happy, he'd promised Harry he would. So he grasped her hand, and she beamed. He smiled back, a true smile this time, by pretending the eyes he looked into were not sky blue but emerald green.

**The saddest thing- among many sad things- is that if Draco had spoken to his parents, Narcissa at least would have understood... But not Draco just isn't that brave. Poor guy... **

**Hopefully I didn't depress you too much.  
**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hi everybody! **

**I'm so sorry for this, but this is another sad/angsty chapter. I assure you, it's for a good reason: choices have consequences, so I wanted to show that . So, please bear with me (and, I did say in the beginning that the fic would be epilogue-compliant...)**

**Second note: I had a sudden brain blast of how I could give this fic a different ending- a _better _ending than I had planned, and still keep everyone in-character. This is thanks to you guys, of course :) So, the fic will end up being longer than I originally said it would. Hopefully this isn't an issue.**

**Lastly, I'm in the process of getting ready to move back to campus and start my second semester of college, so things are a bit hectic right now. That plus more editing and writing on this means I'll be updating less frequently than before. I promise to give you at least one new chapter per week, though. **

**Thanks so, so much for your interest in this fic, your encouragement, and for challenging me LOL. You guys are the best, and I dedicate the chapter to each and every one of you.**

**-AmayaSora  
**

Draco Malfoy could divide his life into two parts: with Harry, and without Harry. The with Harry part consisted of the time from when he was eleven until his marriage; Hogwarts years were included because even though he'd been hated at the time, at least he got to see Harry and speak to Harry and when he was really out of line, touch Harry when the other teen punched or kicked him. Without Harry was before he turned eleven, which he didn't really remember anyway, and then every excruciating second after March 2, 2001.

Okay, some moments were fairly happy. Astoria was sweet, if a little naive, and eager to please even if she wasn't as vivacious or intelligent as Harry had been. He'd managed to shrink her sense of superiority a bit- gently, of course, by bringing himself down with her, so she didn't even notice- and show her that the changes within Wizarding society really were for the better. What had started as a simple crush blown out of proportion for her father's ends- Asphodel had secured himself an unofficial coat of arms and the prestige that entailed by managing to get an alliance with the Malfoys- had developed into actual affection, so Astoria didn't mind being around him. The marriage had brought with it a fairly hefty transference of funds, for the upkeep of the household, so they could buy what they needed. They'd even taken some of Astoria's favorite house-elves from back home.

They had a comfortable life, because Astoria, unlike her sister and Pansy who visited far too often for Draco's tastes, wasn't nosy and followed Draco's few rules demurely. The first one was not to fret about his dreams. Frequently, and by that he meant nearly once a week, Draco would wake up crying because he'd dreamed of Harry coming back for him, or relived one of their magical moments in his sleep. Astoria had been worried the first few times it had happened, but Draco soothed her with half-truths about the war being extremely difficult on him, and causing him to have nightmares sometimes.

The second rule was not to go into Draco's childhood bedroom. Why she wanted to, Draco would never know, but he'd had to talk fast to stop her from opening all the drawers and cabinets. The reason for his secrecy was that he had a collection of newspaper clippings about Harry stashed in there. Every day he'd read the _Prophet_ straight through and cut out any stories that were about Harry, or even just mentioned his name. It was a bit creepy, perhaps, but it was all he had. Sometimes the paper would have a picture, too, and Draco treasured those. He half hoped that one of those stories would say something to make him go back to the Gryffindor, something daring or kind or sweet or anything. But that was mostly a pipe dream, Draco thought bitterly. He wouldn't have been able to find the courage.

There was also the fact that the room was almost exactly as he'd left it the last time Harry had been there. Every inch of it held reminders of Harry, memories of happy times, and he didn't want Astoria corrupting that. He almost told her this, was so close to saying it, one night after they'd gone on a walk through the grounds and Astoria had commented that "that green peacock is my favorite; he's gorgeous." He led her to a bench next to the rose bushes, sat her down and cleared his throat before he thought better of it, hastily changing tracks and plucking one of the red flowers off the bush to place in his wife's hands.

The room was _almost_ the same as when Harry left it, because Draco had in fact taken something out of it: the hawthorne wand, which Harry had had stashed in his pocket during the confrontation on the wedding day and had managed to slip onto the dresser as he was leaving.

When Draco had flung the wand away in his pain, it had collided with the bed post, and a small chip had formed on its surface, not deep enough to affect the wand's performance in any way, but deep enough that Draco definitely noticed it when he picked the wand up. The chip, in the shape of a triangle, happened to be exactly where Draco's thumb rested when he held his wand.

He had- unbeknownst to anyone- used a pocketknife to make the chip bigger and shape it into the form of a lightning bolt, a distinctive lightning bolt like the one on Harry Potter's forehead. Every time he held the wand- which was a lot, as he was a wizard- he'd feel that lightning bolt under his thumb, which he habitually rubbed in little circles. At first it had been an unconscious action, but now he did it purposefully, desperate for that one more connection to Harry, that mark on this wand that had joined the two men together. So the third rule became, don't touch Draco's wand.

Years passed quietly, if unhappily, for Draco. Reminders of Harry served only to minutely strengthen the dull ache that was ever-present in his heart. Until one spring morning in 2005 he picked up the _Daily Prophet_ to see Harry's face grinning up at him, in dress robes with his arm around Ginny Weasley's waist, Ginny Weasley who wore a flowing white gown and a gold ring on her finger-

Draco's heart felt like it was ripped open anew. _HARRY POTTER'S WEDDING_ the headline said, taunting him, bold and black in its finality. They had apparently been dating for a year... a year, and Draco never knew! The author went on to describe the wedding in excruciating detail- food (Weasley family specialties), decorations (gold and cream), the small and quiet nature of the ceremony, the reception afterwards. He stared dumbfounded at the picture, fingers resting softly on Harry's cheek, tear-filled eyes staring at his radiant face which looked sincerely content...

This fact bothered him until he asked Astoria, in generalized terms, naturally. In one of her rare moments of acuity, she replied thoughtfully, "Yes, I think you _can_ love more than one person. You have one who's your true love-" she smiled shyly at him "-but if that doesn't work out, you still have others. Maybe it's not as strong of a love, but that doesn't mean it's not real love."

After that, Draco had to content himself knowing that Harry was, at least, happy, even if he was more miserable knowing that he'd lost his chance... Harry was true to his word: _I can't wait forever..._ So that clipping joined the others, and in the years following even more were added: Harry got to Seek for England in a charity match, Harry was made Head of the Auror Office, the youngest person ever to hold the post- as if Draco was surprised that it happened, with all Harry had done.

It was another big shock to Draco to read the announcement about the birth of a boy, James Sirius, to Harry and Ginny on a quiet morning, nearly nine months to the day after the honeymoon... it really _shouldn't_ have been a surprise, logically, because that's what married couples did, but it was anyway because Draco fancied Harry loved _him_ too much to be intimate with Ginny... that's the way it was with him and Astoria, well, him... and he really wished it wasn't so, because it made her unhappy.

Miraculously (literally; Draco didn't really know how he was able to do it), Astoria did manage to conceive, and Draco had nine glorious months where he could focus on her and only her, and on the child she'd bare rather than on Harry's escapades.

That period was extended when he looked into the clear eyes of his son, as the baby's fragile hand clasped his fingers. If there was someone he could love as much as he loved Harry, it was this child, this boy, Scorpius. He tried to be the best father he could be, better than his parents were, at any rate, to instill in Scorpius the right values, the ones that would let him be happy. He threw everything he had into raising the boy, treasuring every smile and laugh and game of hide-and-go seek, every snow angel made on the Manor lawn.

Even in playing with his son he was thus reminded of Harry. Some part of him infallably informed him that if it wasn't for Harry he wouldn't be where he was, wouldn't have anything that he had now, and yet that he didn't deserve it, not by a long shot, nor did he deserve Harry though he still desperately wanted him... He had a gorgeous son, and a doting wife, wealth, a successful business, everything a man could ask for, and yet Draco wasn't totally happy, never completely there because so much of his heart was far away in London... it put a lot of strain on the blonde, the insomnia, the constant reminders, so that his hair began to recede, his immune system not to function as well as it could have. But Scorpius kept him going. Little Scorpius- extraordinary eyes of periwinkle blue, the perfect fifty-fifty blend of Astoria's azure and his grey- his pride and joy, and his desire to be good to Astoria, the reason that gift was possible.

Yet far too soon, 2017 arrived, and with it Scorpius' Hogwarts letter and, come September 1, his departure to the school. Draco had been, frankly, dreading the occurrence, because it separated him from his son, his primary reason for living. But this happened to every parent, it was a necessary part of raising a child, sending them off to learn. He hoped Scorpius would find friends, real friends, who would be loyal and caring- like Harry's friends were; he hadn't gotten a single piece of correspondence from Hermione since the wedding, since he'd broken Harry's heart.

So, the Malfoy family stood at King's Cross station in the shadow of the scarlet steam engine in Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Scorpius was bouncing up and down in excitement, eyes wide and bright with anticipation as he took in the train, the trolleys, the people, all the sights around him. Scorp appreciated the small things.

"Dad, did you see that?" he said excitedly, pointing frantically at a young man with shockingly turquoise hair who had darted past.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "I think his girlfriend is going to be quite happy with her gift." The guy in question had been carrying a fluffy white kitten, complete with pale pink bow, in his arms.

"D'you think I could have a cat?"

"I suppose, if you wanted one. But we just got you Perseus."

"Oh, I know, and I'm so happy!" Scorpius smiled fondly at his eagle owl. "I was just thinking, if I gave someone a cat they'd like me too."

"I'm sure people will like you just fine, without gifts," said Astoria warmly. Draco smiled, too; he was confident as well. His son was such a likable boy... nothing like he'd been at eleven.

As Astoria took up the conversation, Draco allowed his eyes to wander around the platform, looking for familiar faces or sights. So much had changed since he'd been here last. Everyone seemed much happier, for one, with the Dark Lord so stoutly vanquished. He noticed too that the Slytherin children seemed much more included in the antics of those from the other Houses; that cheered him up slightly. Even those barriers were being broken.

The mist from the stream cleared further, and his eyes continued scanning. Suddenly he felt a familiar prickle at the base of his spine, a particular feeling he hadn't had in seventeen years. Trying not to seem too eager, he turned his head, and sure enough, there he was- Harry, standing mere meters from him, _Harry._

Except, now he stood with a woman, with Ginny, and five little children. Only three of them were his, though, so the other two had to belong to Hermione and Weasley, who were also staring covertly at him. With effort, he dragged his eyes away from Harry, and found them locked in a steely glare of death from Hermione, her brown eyes blazing with unexpressed hatred... all justly deserved, of course.

He hurriedly focused on Harry again, drinking in every detail: the angles of his face, which were slightly different, given that he was older, the way his hair was slightly longer now that it had been, and flattened down over his face to hide his scar, the way he still carried himself with the utmost confidence and quiet beauty. He couldn't stop looking.

But he had to... what did one say when they ran into the love of their life and their family? Especially when everyone else thought you were mortal enemies? So he settled for a curt nod, wishing for so much more, wishing to be able to run to Harry and snog him senseless. Harry returned the gesture evenly, and Draco wrenched his gaze away, forcing himself back to the present, to his own family.

"-very kind, all of them, so you'd do wonderfully there, too, dear. There's nothing to worry about."

Scorpius looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear that... some of Miss Pansy's stories said some pretty awful things about the other Houses."

"You don't want to listen to Miss Pansy's stories," said Draco suddenly, letting some of his contempt for the woman slip through. "She greatly exaggerates. All of the Houses are perfectly acceptable."

"Even Gryffindor?"

The innocent question caused Draco's eyes to flick however briefly back to the Potter-Weasley family, which was now saying farewell to its older children. He saw Harry stoop down and whisper something to his son, Albus, who looked extraordinarily like his father, especially when the boy smiled, as he did at the end of the discussion, and run forward to hug his dad.

"Yes, Scorpius," he said, meeting his son's eyes. "Even Gryffindor."


	21. Chapter 21

**Hey guys! Thanks for your patience; this ended up taking a bit longer than I anticipated, but that's alright, because it's worth it in the end. That said, I didn't spend as long editing this chapter as I have the others, so please forgive any grammar/spelling errors (and maybe point them out, so I can fix them ;)) **

**Also, I've re-planned my ending, so you can expect two (maybe even three) more chapters and then an epilogue. Yay!  
**

**-AmayaSora  
**

Harry Potter always told the new recruits at the Auror Academy two things (aside from the expected "Welcome to the force" speech). The first was that they were always to have an open mind, since the job wasn't right for everybody and there was no shame in discovering that. He said this because of Ron, and how cut-up he'd been when he resigned his post to work at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Ron was much better suited to his new job, but it took Harry a while to make his friend see that. So, to prevent others from staying on out of duty when their hearts weren't in it (that could get very dangerous very fast), Harry made sure to impress upon his Aurors the importance of choice, and staying true to yourself.

Of course, there was another reason he stressed that point: Draco. Lots of things made Harry remember Draco, actually, to the point that the blonde crossed his mind at least once a day. Most of the time, it was recalling some fond memory they'd shared, but every so often- particularly in early March- it would bring on a painful pang in his heart, as he dwelled for a moment or two on what could have been.

He knew Draco had it in him to be strong and stand up for himself, to go against his family. He'd thought that maybe, seeing him would give the blonde the opportunity to realize that, too. But that didn't work, sadly. And at the wedding, those two words ripped through Harry like a knife... it was worse than having Draco stop loving him. It was Draco loving him immensely and still choosing someone else, still leaving him.

He'd kept up a vain, perhaps naive hope that one day Draco would wise up and come back to him, realize that he was being a complete bloody idiot and, that although he intended his actions to be noble, they really had the opposite impact: cowardice. But, old wounds ran deep, and Draco hadn't been able to escape his childhood completely. He placed his family higher on his priorities list than his own happiness. Harry almost understood it; he'd certainly do anything for his family, extended as it was. But somehow he knew his family would never ask him to make a choice like that, if they knew how much it would cost.

After a few years of waiting, he just got tired. He was tired of praying every night for Malfoy to realize what he should do, tired of fighting the urge to pop over to the Manor on days when the need became too great (he knew Draco still wouldn't have changed the wards, and had no doubt he'd be able to get in), tired of the constant disappointment.

So, when Ginny ended her tour with the Harpies and took a post at the_ Prophet_, he picked back up with her. Much more slowly than before, starting almost from the beginning to make sure he could commit fully to Ginny, to understand the differences between her and Malfoy, and to remember why he loved her. Because he did love her, just not in the same immediate, soul-searing way he loved Draco. (He did still love the man; how could he not?) He loved her more gently, and maybe slightly less deep, but it was enough for him. He just wanted to be happy after all.

And he was. Ginny was a great match for him- a wonderful wife, a devoted mother, and a great friend to turn to for advice. He told her everything, except those things related to his relationship with Malfoy. That was his and his alone... well, no, Hermione knew, and he used to rely on her quite a lot in the immediate aftermath. He shuddered as he thought of one particularly bad day, Draco's first anniversary, and how he'd arrived at her house, sobbing uncontrollably... She helped him through it, said all the right things, got Ron to get out of the house for the day (for which Harry was perhaps the most grateful).

Even years afterward, he'd repeat her advice from that day to himself, like a mantra. _"Not everyone loves the same way you do, Harry- loves selflessly, courageously; it's an extraordinary kind of love... He made his choice, you can't change that. But you _can_ change how you choose to respond to it."_ And, gradually, Harry had. He mostly pitied Malfoy now, for being stuck in such an awful situation, even if it was almost entirely his own fault.

So that was why he told his young Aurors to stay true to themselves and not let other people and their expectations influence their decisions so much. His second piece of advice was: life never turned out the way you expected it to. It applied in the general sense, of course, that no one could have predicted the things that had happened to him and his loved ones, but also in the more specific context of Auror missions, which tended to be almost entirely different than what you thought they were going to be. An Auror must always think on their feet.

This case could have been the poster child for his "life is unexpected" mantra, Harry thought mournfully as he paced the hallway of St. Mungo's hospital's Spell Damage floor. He was just outside the Tonks-Lupin Code Green ward (named after Nymphadora; Andromeda had paid for its refurbishment a few years ago, and as Tonks had been treated here after the Department of Mysteries thing, it was an appropriate name), waiting impatiently to be allowed inside. One of his captains could have done this, of course- Spelley had been here, actually, before Harry sent him home- but Harry couldn't stay away.

Part of that, he knew, was the inevitable 'blaming himself' thing that never fully left him from his teenage years, though Kingsley made a real good try of persuading him to drop it. He tended to think that if he'd assigned someone else or sent another team or did something differently, the disaster wouldn't have happened. Usually he was better at rationally dismissing those thoughts, but that was proving much harder to do now. This had been Louise Jennings' first mission, purposefully an easy one so the girl could gain confidence. That had been a colossal mistake, as it turned out.

The sound of a door creaking open broke through his reverie, and he saw a disheveled, exhausted Healer emerging from behind it. She wiped her face with a handkerchief before turning and spotting Harry. "Auror Potter! I didn't know you were here; I thought you'd send one of the captains, otherwise I would have made sure-"

"It's fine," Harry assured, expertly keeping his weariness of the special treatment out of his voice. "I'd much rather you spend your time working on them. How are they?"

Healer Stephanie Nimani (according to her nametag, the primary person on this team) sucked in a breath. "They'll live," she said, and Harry visibly relaxed as relief coursed through him. "It was a close call, though. We'd never seen that curse before; the signature suggests that the caster invented it him- or herself."

"What else did the signature tell you?" Harry asked, directing his quill to jot down what Nimani said.

"The signature itself, not much. But the way the curse was designed- there's a Muggle disease called Alzheimer's, which strikes older people mostly and results in-"

"Memory loss; yes, I'm familiar with it," Harry said. People tended to forget that he grew up in a Muggle household, because the worlds were still more separate than Harry found ideal. Actually, he was quite impressed that Nimani had studied Muggle diseases; so few Healers did.

"It's a bit more complicated than that. The mechanism for the disease is the destruction of brain tissue; specifically, those involved in memory storage and formation. Insidious, isn't it? Well, the suspect is probably Muggle-born, to have known something like that, and also had advanced training in Charms, because what the curse did was go after all types of brain tissues, systematically, with the final goal being-"

"I think we know what they were after, mucking around with their brains," Harry announced, nearly trembling with rage. Nimani's information fit with the suspect they'd apprehended, which was encouraging. The specifics about he curse, though, were much less so. "I know you said that they'd all live, but what's the timeframe for recovery?"

"Normally, death would be assured, but thanks to a modified Shield Charm-" Harry smirked in spite of himself; Louise had been trying to get others to use her version of Protego since the Academy. Seems she was right. "-the curse seeped in slowly, like it went through a strainer. Nevertheless, it was quite powerful magic, and began work almost immediately, resulting in loss of consciousness, seizures, and all sorts of other unpleasant things.

"We stopped it before it could shut down any of the organs, so they'll be alright, physically. Unfortunately, given that the basis of the curse was a disease that impacts memory, much of the victims' memories will be gone."

"Right. Well, you've done so much already; to save you the trouble I'll go and set up the move to the Mind Healers' wing, after-"

"You don't understand, Auror Potter," Nimani said sadly. "Usually, charms add a layer of magic onto the brain to mask things, which Mind Healers help remove. But this- this removed a layer, possibly more, so no known techniques will work. I'm sure someone would research it for you, but we can't guarantee that it will have any effect."

"So, you're saying the memories are gone forever?"

"We don't like to give absolutes like that, as you know," Nimani said gently. "But, in all likelihood, yes. One stroke of good fortune is that preliminary scans show that a surprising amount of practical and technical knowledge is intact- the curse deleted personal histories first."

That also made sense even if it was a disgusting, thought Harry. The suspects, specifically the witch who'd actually cast the spell, were part of an anti-Death Eater faction, and so would want to destroy the essence of the person first, since they found that person so repulsive. Harry's hands clenched unconsciously over his wand; it infuriated him that things like this were still happening, when the war ended twenty years ago.

"I understand," said Harry quietly, and flicked his wand to still the quill and send it flying back into his pocket. "Thank you for the thorough briefing."

Nimani nodded. "Of course. If you'd like to go in and see them, now, you may, but don't expect them to remember much of anything."

"Yes," Harry said evenly, but inside his mind was reeling. This was going to be the hardest interview he'd ever done, and not just because of the curse. Louise had been put on bodyguard duty- fairly standard first assignment- until the Magical Law Enforcement squad could catch the person who'd been sending the threatening messages. But it was the people she was protecting that threatened Harry's self-control: Draco and Astoria Malfoy.

Being in the same room with Draco would undoubtedly trigger emotional reactions for him, which always colored his interactions regardless of how hard he tried to remain aloof. But, now, Draco would remember nothing of their past, good or bad, and that fact hurt. To be erased completely from Draco's life... Harry didn't know how he'd handle it.

Luckily, the blonde was asleep when Harry entered the room, so he was free to go to Louise's bedside directly across the room and check on his Auror.

"Hello," he said cautiously.

Louise's hazel eyes opened. "Hello, sir."

_Sir?_ "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Harry Potter; everyone recognizes that scar." This was a far better reaction than Harry had been expecting. Probably the fact that her Shield had been cast meant that she had the best protection of them all. And Louise was always very sharp... Yet, this was general information, nothing showing she remembered that she knew him.

"Yes. Do you remember your name?"

"The Healers told me it was Louise... why are you here, sir?"

"I came to see how you were doing."

Louise's face scrunched up in confusion. "But- why? What's so special about little old me?"

"You're an Auror. Auror Louise Jennings, and I'm your boss... you were hit by a curse which hurt your memory." Harry said it gently, but he figured it was better to get it over with sooner rather than later. "Do you remember anything about this?"

She sat still and silent for a moment, eyes closed. Finally, she spoke. "I must have had some sort of training, because I feel more in-control of my magic than ever before, and I think I know some special moves and things." Aurors practiced constantly, to keep their skills sharp, so it would be in their muscle memory. Happily, that hadn't been impacted by the curse.

"That's fantastic!"

Louise smiled, but it was strained. "How is it that I know all these things, but nothing about myself?" Patiently, Harry explained about the curse and her chances for recovery. She took it very well, considering, but Harry could tell she wanted to be alone for a bit, to process.

"Are you going to be alright? I should go and check on the suspects," he said, to give her an out without asking him to leave.

"I... I will. Go and take care of what you need to." He patted her arm comfortingly and stepped back from the bed, pulling the curtains shut to give her some privacy. Harry ran a hand through his hair, exhausted and worried. He moved over to Astoria's bed; the investigation showed she probably got the worst of the curse, given where she was standing, so Harry didn't think she'd be conscious yet.

Predictably, she wasn't, and Harry sighed again. He'd have to come back to talk to the Malfoys when they awoke, but right now he had to take care of the tedious administrative tasks that a botched mission required. Assuming he could halfway concentrate, which was highly unlikely.

Halfway to the door, a sudden movement caught his eye, and he froze. Draco had shot upright, abruptly awakening. His eyes were wide and frightened as they roved the room. They flickered over the closed curtains of Louise's bed before alighting on Harry. At the sight of him Draco's hand darted out and grasped his wand. The instant he touched the wood, he gave a great shout and fell back down on the bed clutching the sides of his head.

"Healer! HEALER!" Harry bellowed and dashed to Draco's bedside, professionalism forgotten. "Draco, what's wrong, what hurts?" he demanded.

Draco quieted just as the door burst open and Healer Nimani sprinted in. "What's going on?"

"He- he's had some sort of fit or something... he grabbed his wand, and then next second he fell back screaming and holding his head! I don't know what-"

"Harry," a soft voice said, and the brunette whipped around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. Draco was staring up at him with those gorgeous silver eyes and Harry's favorite soft smile on his face.

"Draco." Harry's relief was palpable, and without really thinking about it he grasped Draco's hand. The blonde responded by squeezing lightly.

"Mr. Malfoy, can you tell me what happened?" Healer Nimani asked gently, running her wand over different parts of Draco's body, checking for unnoticed injuries.

"I- I don't know," he said, but he was talking to Harry, and the lovelight shining out of his eyes made Harry feel like the only person in the world, let alone the room. His breath caught as familiar sensations coursed through him. "Images were flying around in my head, and suddenly they snapped into place and I had the most horrible headache."

"Auror Potter, I need to run some quick tests. If you'd be so kind as to step outside..."

Harry took his hand out of Draco's and took a step towards the door, but once again Draco's voice stopped him. "Please... stay with me..."

Harry's mind was a bit numb from shock and the emotional whirlwind that was the past five minutes, but he obeyed and returned to Draco's side. Nimani shot him a questioning look and Harry shrugged helplessly. Then, the witch returned to the task at hand and muttered a long stream of spells over Draco's head.

She gasped and backed up. "It- it's extraordinary... he seems to have spontaneously recovered a portion of his memories, based on the volume of memory the charm picked up. We can't tell what, specifically, he regained, but-" She looked up at him, awed. "What- what did you say to him?"

"Nothing," whispered Harry, eyes huge. "I didn't say anything... I asked him what was wrong, but that's it..."

"I must go and fetch the Mind Healers, immediately- perhaps they can capitalize on this and help the others. You will stay with him?" Harry nodded, and Nimani dashed out of the room.

"Harry. What was she talking about?" Draco inquired softly, grabbing Harry's hand again.

The brunette took a deep breath. "You- there was an attack. Someone hit you with a curse that destroyed your memories. But some seem to have come back."

"I've never heard of a curse like that."

"It was invented by the person who cast it. Immensely powerful. It cut through most of the wards at the Manor and blasted apart the sitting room wall. Louise's Shield Charm saved you from further harm."

Draco's face had drained of color because of his fear. "I... I can tell, now; there are huge gaps in my memory... are- are you okay? You didn't get hit, did you?"

"No, I'm fine," Harry murmured. "Scorpius is fine, too- do you remember him?"

"Scorpius Hyperion. Yes," Draco said happily, after a few moments of wracking his brains. Harry himself was tremendously relieved; he didn't know how you would go about explaining to a twelve-year-old that his father didn't remember him.

"I can go and check on him, if you'd like," Harry said. "He's at Hogwarts, but I owled ahead and McGonagall should have gotten him."

"Maybe in a few minutes," Draco said softly. "I just need- I'm so glad you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay. I wasn't even-" Harry stopped abruptly, because Draco was now playing with his fingers, running his thumb over them in the way only he could that felt _so good_ and always made Harry want to- Harry pulled his hand free with effort as his conscience flashed pictures of Ginny and the kids in his mind.

"Draco, don't do that," he said shakily, trying to calm down.

"You're the Auror in charge of this case? That's odd; isn't it a conflict of interest?"

"I- probably, yeah. I can get someone else if you-"

"No," said Draco immediately.

"O-okay... listen, Draco, what exactly do you remember? I- it might be important."

"Frustratingly little," the blonde responded, and he grabbed Harry's hand again. "Nothing recent... bits of Scorpius- most clearly, the snow angels and putting him on the train... one of my birthdays, and a Christmas celebration... and both of the fires." Draco's hand was now slowly trailing up Harry's arm.

"B-both?" Harry managed to gasp, as he was too startled to move.

"Yes... the one from the war, in the Room of Hidden Things." His voice was startling level, but the hand, which had risen to Harry's neck now, shook slightly. "And the one in the garden, the bonfire. The one that started it all," he finished, and locked eyes with Harry, silver orbs smoldering, and he used his hand on Harry's neck to pull the brunette down and join their lips in a passionate kiss.

The taste of Draco's lips, the feel of them, had never left Harry's mind, and without conscious thought he responded, kissing back with abandon, raising his hands to card through Draco's hair. How he'd missed this, how he'd longed for it after- The salty taste of tears broke through Harry's bliss and he abruptly remembered himself and jerked back. The tears had been falling from Draco's eyes.

"Wh-what's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Draco said mournfully. "I just... there was something different about that kiss, and I'm fairly sure it wasn't good different."

Harry sucked in a breath, trying to get his thoughts straight. Draco had always been able to tell his emotions easily, moreso than any other person, and so it really wasn't surprising that he'd picked up on the fact that something was amiss, had picked up on the desperation and sadness and wishful thinking.

"Draco," he said, voice determinedly level. "What do you remember about the, ah, nature of our relationship?"

"Harry, I could never forget you," he said softly. "After all we've been through- I'm sure it's a lot, even if I can't remember most of it, because of how strongly I feel. I love you."

Even though Harry knew that Draco loved him, it still made his heart expand to hear the words come from the blonde's lips yet again. But he had to remain focused. "Yeah... what about Astoria?"

"Who?" Draco's tone and the way he cocked his head to the side left no doubt in Harry's mind: Draco honestly didn't remember his wife. Which meant that he had no recollection of them ever breaking up. The world began spinning under the weight of this new knowledge; he didn't know what to do with it, about it.

Healer Nimani came bustling in again, this time trailed by no less than four Mind Healers. Harry backed up from the bed to allow the Mediwizards access to Draco's bedside. The blonde's eyes met his over the top of Nimani's head and held a beseeching, fearful look.

"I- I have to go now," Harry mumbled, backing towards the door.

"You'll come back, won't you?" Draco called over the din, but Harry slipped out the door and down the hall without answering. He walked quickly to the end of the hall and sank down on the bench, reeling.


	22. Chapter 22

Draco really wished that Harry would come back, sooner rather than later. At the very least, he wanted to hear that Scorpius was alright. But even more than that, he _remembered_ Harry. He knew the man even better than he knew himself at the moment, and it would be unimaginably comforting to have him there. But Harry had been conspicuously absent, which meant Draco's life was filled with nothing but Healers (both regular Healers and the Mind Healers who wouldn't stop asking him ridiculously personal questions and probing his mind with spells) and the woman with whom he shared his room. The small sandy-haired one had been moved to a private room the second day, but the other woman remained.

Apparently, her name was Astoria Malfoy nee Greengrass, and she was his wife. Draco couldn't wrap his head around that one; why would he marry this girl (he wouldn't even have considered her that attractive had he been straight) when he had Harry? It made no sense... he wondered if perhaps something had gone wrong between him and Harry, but that didn't seem likely. If things had ended Harry would not react the way he did during that kiss. And he'd be disgusted or uncomfortable by the contact, not have that weird mix of want and joy and fear and guilt swirling through his eyes as he left. Besides, they were in love, Draco was certain of it.

Yet person after person insisted that he had in fact married this brown-haired lady. He dared not ask them about Harry, because he was fairly sure they had agreed to keep everything under wraps, and because he was, frankly, terrified of what he might hear. He couldn't help asking each new Healer who came in if they knew when the man would be returning, though, but no one seemed to have any idea. A nagging voice in the back of his head wouldn't stop suggesting that perhaps Harry was avoiding him.

Healer Nimani, who had taken a liking to Draco and an inordinate amount of hope for his recovery, told him repeatedly not to fret; Harry was Head of the Auror Department and as such was phenomenally busy. It's nothing personal, she assured dismissively. Nimani was also frustratingly adamant about trying the usual Mind Healing techniques to continue his recovery. She managed to get her hands on a photo album of what was supposedly his life (although he couldn't recognize it) and tirelessly explained to him what each picture was.

He saw himself and Astoria at their wedding, her with a radiant smile, him a false one, face blank, then at various pictures from parties and events. His mother and father were in a few photos, too, but he couldn't remember anything beyond their relationship to him. The majority of the pictures were of Scorpius: himself, Scorpius and Astoria, Scorpius by himself, and many with him and his son alone. There, Draco thought, he could see genuine happiness in his own face. He knew he loved his son, at least...

Draco held off for a week. That day, Astoria had woken up for the first time. Nimani had jumped on the occurrence as a possible trigger for both of them, and immediately shoved their beds closer to allow them to talk. But Astoria had no idea who he was, and only vague stirrings of Scorpius, and she was so scared and confused by the whole thing that Nimani had to sedate her only five minutes in.

As soon as the Healer got Astoria settled back in her corner, Draco demanded quill and ink. Nimani obliged, and Draco set about composing a letter to Harry, taking his time to word it carefully. If anyone would know the full story, it was the Gryffindor brunette.

The very next day, Harry came to visit. He entered the room cautiously, almost warily, and made his way over to Draco's bedside with nary a word. He was decidedly nervous, too, shuffling his feet as was his want and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before he finally spoke.

"Er... hello. How are you feeling?"

"Physically? Wonderful. Mentally? Unbelievably confused. But happy, now that you're here."

Harry blushed and averted his eyes as he sank into the chair next to the bed. "It's great that Astoria is awake," he said, completely ignoring the comment.

"Yes," Draco responded easily.

"Do you remember anything about her?"

"No," said Draco, a bit petulantly now because Harry had sounded almost hopeful when he'd asked that.

"Oh..." Harry shifted self-consciously. "I got your letter."

"I assumed as much," Draco sat up and swung his legs around so they dangled off the side of the bed. He found that if he swayed them slightly, his feet could touch Harry's legs, so that's what he did. The physical contact just felt so _right_ and good he couldn't resist.

Harry could, it seemed, because he coughed awkwardly and shifted away. "The letter... you asked me what happened, you know, between us. Well, we- we're not together any longer. Haven't been for sixteen years."

Draco blinked. He had suspected something was amiss, of course, but hearing it said outright gave it a sense of finality that cut him to the core. "I see. And what is the reason for that?"

"Your par- no, I can't even say that. You chose to go and marry Astoria, to leave me and everything we'd built." The pain was evident in Harry's voice even as he endeavored to keep it out.

"What? I- that's- I can't believe I would... _why?_"

Harry drew a very old, worn piece of parchment from the pocket of his robes and wordlessly handed it over. Draco took it; yes, the writing on it was his, the words the ones he would use. But what they were saying... He read it, then reread it again and again, trying to reconcile the things he read there with what he knew now- admittedly little, but the fact that he loved Harry should have been enough.

He looked up with desperate eyes to find Harry staring at him curiously. "I was this close to throwing that out," he said. "I could never really understand it. The reasoning is sound, and everything is true, but it's only one facet of the truth. But that's the facet you acted on, and I've had to live with your choice- we both have."

"But, but- I love you!"

Harry closed his eyes, strained expression on his face. "Don't say that- please, don't say that... you have a family now, Astoria and Scorpius, and I have Ginny and my kids... It took me four whole years to get over that- if I even am over it. It was hard enough watching you leave the first time." When his eyes opened, their emerald depths were swimming with tears.

Draco was feeling them prickling in the back of his eyes, too. "Harry... I can't believe I did this... I- I made you so unhappy; I don't remember much, but I know I never wanted that."

"You never wanted to leave me, maybe," Harry said. "But I've seen the way you look at Scorpius... you can't tell me you never wanted _him_."

Draco was at a loss as to what to say. True, he wouldn't trade his son for anything, but if it meant he didn't have Harry...

The man rose from the chair. "Well, there you have it, then. Answers to your questions."

"Harry, wait!" Draco called, darting out of bed. The abrupt change in his position sent waves of dizziness into his head, and he grabbed the bedside table to steady himself. The next second Harry was there, wrapping an arm around his waist and gently lowering him back onto the bed.

"Easy there."

Draco grabbed Harry's arm to prevent the man from pulling away. "Was I happy?" Harry looked startled by the question, but Draco continued on. "With Astoria. Was I happy?"

Harry wrench his arm out of Draco's grip. "Yes," he said, but Draco knew it was a lie by the way his voice shook and how Harry avoided his gaze. But Draco didn't argue the point, and Harry knelt to retrieve something from the floor.

"You knocked your wand down..." Harry said, and laid it gently on the bed near Draco's left hand. "Anyway. I've got to be going now. Good luck, Malfoy." And he turned and walked away, towards the door, but Draco wanted him to stay; he had more questions. At the very least Harry could say his first name. So he decided to magically close the door, so Harry wouldn't leave just yet.

The instant his fingers brushed the hawthorne wood, a jolt of magic shot up his arm of its own accord- familiar, and yet not at the same time- and his mind was a swirling whirlwind of images and sensations, memories: arriving on Harry's doorstep, the first time he'd woken up, snippets of his adventures during the healing process, flashbacks from the war, and an eclipse, a glorious corona of light, pure and golden.

Like a string being pulled tight, the memories snapped into place with the sound of a gong that reverberated through his head and causing a searing headache. Unable to help himself, he cried out and curled into a ball; this one was worse than the last. Dimly, he heard Harry shouting and then the man was yanking the wand away, the Healers were entering the room. Draco groped blindly and found Harry's hand, grabbed it and the pain dulled a bit. Automatically, he flung his body upward to wrap his arms completely around Harry, and the relief was palpable. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the brilliant green of Harry's eyes.

xxxx xxxx

Draco wasn't alone when he woke up. He turned his head to the side and saw Harry curled uncomfortably on the chair beside the bed, soft breathing filling the otherwise quiet room. Draco's heart swelled so big it almost hurt, seeing Harry's sleeping face, so handsome. Some of his fringe was falling into his eyes, and Draco was almost to the point of brushing it away when he remembered why Harry had come, what he said. He clenched his hand into a fist and pulled back unhappily.

"Go on, dear boy, there's no harm in it."

Draco hadn't even noticed the man standing in the corner until he spoke, so he jumped about a mile. But the man was smiling softly, didn't seem threatening in any way, and he had a name badge on, so he figured he was allowed to be here. But in the darkness he couldn't read what the metal square said.

"Jonathan Fillagree, Mr. Malfoy," the man said, striding forward to stand at the foot of Draco's bed.

"Why are you here?" It was rude, true, but Draco was embarrassed that he'd been caught reaching out to Harry, and disconcerted by the man's utterly carefree demeanor.

"To talk to you, of course. Your Healer Nimani called me in; I'm known as something of an expert on wands. No, I don't make them," he added, in response to Draco's questioning look. "I study them, in the Department of Mysteries."

Now that he looked, Draco could make out the ruby red color of the robes Fillagree wore which marked him as an Unspeakable. "Is- is my wand okay?"

"It's in perfect working order, never fear. Here you are," he said, holding it out to him. Draco eyed it warily, but Fillagree was smiling too benignly for him to really think he'd be hurt, so he reached out. Pleasantly, nothing happened this time.

"Ah ha!" Fillagree exclaimed triumphantly. "Just as I suspected!"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know why you're so happy."

"Because nothing happened, of course, which confirmed my theory."

Idly, Draco wondered if this man was mentally competent as he took in the brilliant smile and twinkling eyes. At least he had a weapon now; even if he could only remember a few spells, it would be enough to hold Filagree off until help arrived or Harry awoke.

_Harry..._ inexorably, Draco felt his eyes drawn to the man sleeping in the chair, and he allowed himself a quick glance before returning his attention to Filagree.

"I noticed a most peculiar chip in your wand, Mr. Malfoy," he said conversationally, and Draco flushed, running his thumb over the lightning bolt he'd noticed on the wand the other day.

"I don't remember how it got there... I suppose that is why my wand acted the way it did? Causing the headaches and things."

"In a manner of speaking," said Fillagree cryptically. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy... why is it that Auror Potter is here by your bedside, and not at home with his wife?"

"I- I don't- nothing's going on!" he stammered, completely thrown by the question and determined to keep Harry's name out of the rumor mill, especially now that he knew there'd be no truth to said rumors anyway. "Probably he feels guilty about what happened, thinks he caused it... he always did have a bit of a complex about saving people."

"Does he stay out of guilt, or concern?" Fillagree asked softly.

"Is there a difference?" Draco said, rather nastily, but he was getting quite fed up with the man, and he was in no mood to mince words.

"And a considerable one at that... Do you know what lies beyond the fifth door in the Department of Mysteries?"

"No, I don't; I can't remember anything, in case you haven't-"

"Ah, but you _can_ remember some things, can't you? Your Healers told me... you recall more things now than you did this morning, don't you? Ever since you picked up your wand."

Draco tried to control his gaping mouth. He had probably recognized the symptoms of his earlier episode and put two and two together, that was it. "How is it any of your business if I have? That is between me and the Mind Healers."

"The Mind Healers called me in for a consult," Fillagree said easily. "About the wand at first, but when I saw that mark I was quite intrigued... of course, none of them give any credence to my theory. No matter, really, so few people would understand. You friend Mr. Potter probably would."

"What does Harry have to do with this?"

"A great deal, but he doesn't know it. He's the key to-"

"I- I can't ask Harry to do anything else for me," Draco whispered, slumping down in the covers. "I remember, now, more of what he's done... and he didn't have to, he just did it because of the kind of person he is... I can't ask him to give any more."

"He gives it whether you ask or not."

Draco's mind was whirring, trying to figure out what in the world Fillagree was talking about, and if it was going to be a danger to Harry. _Something he gives without being asked... the fifth door in the Department of Mysteries... Harry understands it, but many people don't..._

"You give it, too, Mr. Malfoy," Fillagree said gently. "Yes, just as much as he does, only to a rather more restricted audience... I shall give you a hint. The fifth door is always locked, and contains a force so powerful it can even defeat the Killing Curse, and, some think, influence fate itself."

His brain was hurting; it was far too early in the morning for thinking like this, and Draco had been cursed to within an inch of his life only a week and a day ago. "I don't-"

"Draco."

The blonde turned, but Harry hadn't woken up. Instead, he had spoken Draco's name in his sleep, in response to a dream, and for the first time after the accident Harry smiled, a real smile, and looked peaceful and content. Draco couldn't help but smile, too.

"You love him." It wasn't a question, but a simple statement of fact. Fillagree was standing straighter now, dropping a bit of his mysterious, aloof persona.

"Yes," said Draco simply.

"And he loves you... you see, this is the key to your memory, why yours unlocked but none of the others did. You've found your soul mate, which means at some point your magic joined together, got used to working in tandem- probably channeled through that wand.

"When you touched it, your magic recognized his- minute amounts were drawn up when _he_ touched the wand, right before you did- and the combined power was so great that it reversed parts of the curse- snippets of memory returned. I'm willing to bet that everything you remember of your past involves Mr. Potter in some way."

It was true, Draco realized. All of the memories he retained were of Harry, or related to him in some way or another; even the ones from the war, they were mostly of times when he thought about Harry when being asked to do some unpleasant task. But then that didn't explain why he remembered Scorpius, surely his son had never met Harry- _His middle name,_ Draco realized. Scorpius **H**y**P**erion... he'd named the boy after Harry, the only way he could, in the hopes of imparting some of Harry's kindness and bravery to the child.

"I see on your face that my theory is correct," Fillagree said. "Perhaps you see why the others were so closed-minded about it; who would look to love as the answer, when there are complicated spells to be invented or potions to be brewed?"

"Astoria... she's my wife..." began Draco slowly. "So, if I went and touched her wand, then gave it to her, would she-"

"I think you know the answer to that," Fillagree interrupted gently. "Admirable though it is to want to help, you know in your heart that you've only ever been Harry's, regardless of what the law may say."

Yes, that was true, Draco thought, he'd always known that... judging from the pictures, his past self had known, too.

"Well, I must take my leave now, Mr. Malfoy," said Fillagree cordially, with a little bow in Draco's direction.

"What? You're not- you don't want credit for your theory? Recognition for being right?"

"I already have that; you know the truth." Fillagree smiled wryly. "Besides, I think the constant clamoring would get tedious, after a while."

"But- no, wait! What am I supposed to _do?_" cried Draco desperately. "I'm married to Astoria, who may never remember anything again, but she's still my wife, and my parents are expecting me to uphold the name and repay their sacrifices, and Harry- he has his own family, a life without me, now, a happy one, yet I love him, and-"

"I can't tell you what to do, nor would I want to, because it our choices that make us who we are. However, I will say that very few people get the chance to make a monumental choice such as this over again."

Something about that sounded familiar to Draco, like an echo of an echo... Fillagree was at the door before he cottoned on. Harry had told him that once, early on in their relationship, and the man had learned it from someone else. "You- you didn't know Professor Dumbledore, did you?"

Fillagree paused in the doorway and smiled. "We've corresponded," he said, with a knowing smirk, and swept up the hall, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts and his sleeping soul mate.

**I'm really proud of this chapter; hopefully you like it? **


	23. Chapter 23

"Louise is improving steadily when it comes to recognizing people, but events are lost to her. But the Mind Healers are confident that she'll be able to return to her normal life, given enough time."

"That's... I can't even begin to say how amazing that is," Harry said, shaking Nimani's hand vigorously. "You and your team have done miraculous things. Really."

"Thank you, Auror Potter," the witch replied with a smile that quickly faded as she turned to the next page of the chart. "Unfortunately, young Astoria just isn't making the same kind of headway... I suspect some of the debris may have hit her head... But she vaguely remembers her sister and her closest friends, so she'll live a happy enough life, even if it's not as full."

"Where's she going to stay?" Harry glanced pityingly in the door to the room that had housed Astoria for the past month.

"A nice room on the Spell Damage floor. Her husband paid quite a bit to get her a private apartment with liberal visiting hours, so she'll have all the home comforts."

"And- and what about her son?" Harry couldn't help himself; true, the boy's welfare was peripherally related to the case, because the attackers wanted to make sure the boy wouldn't be harmed by the curse (although their logic was a bit fuzzy if they thought killing his parents wouldn't affect him), but more than that he found he was really fond of the young man who'd become his son's best friend. They had invited Scorpius to stay with them for Christmas holidays, and the whole family agreed that he was delightful.

"The poor dear... she knows him, but not nearly well enough. She recognizes that it's better for the both of them if he stays with his father, with visits on holidays and birthdays."

"Right... hang on- you said stay with his father. Does that mean that Draco..."

"Didn't I say? He's being discharged today! I still don't know what happened, but somehow he's managed to gain back a huge chunk of his memory, enough for him to piece together almost his full life. He doesn't remember his early years, but he has bits of Hogwarts and the years after... and his son," she said fondly. "After the term is over, if all goes well with Mr. Malfoy under the care of his parents, he'll be able to be a proper father to the child."

"He's going with his parents?"

"Yes, to make sure he doesn't relapse- although the chances of that are remote, according to the Mind Healers," Nimani prattled happily. "He just left the ward, actually; if you hurry you might be able to catch him and get a final impact statement for the trial."

"Er, yeah, let me go see... thanks!" Harry called, already halfway down the hallway. Draco was alright... Harry didn't think he'd ever been so relieved in his life, especially after that second time with the headaches. No one had been able to offer a satisfactory explanation, but it hadn't happened again, and Draco didn't seem to have been negatively affected by it. On the contrary; that had been when the largest chunk of new memories had reappeared, and Draco seemed to savor them.

Harry thought that Draco was remembering more about his life with Astoria, because he backed off on showing overt physical affection. Sometimes he'd catch the blonde staring at him, but that was understandable, and besides, Harry himself stared, too. The post-curse Draco was a lot more introspective than the old one, but Harry thought perhaps that would change once he got reacquainted with his memories. Hopefully, the little lie he'd told regarding Draco's happiness would ensure that, in the future, the man could be.

The lobby of St. Mungo's was packed, as usual, but Harry expertly spotted the pale hair of Lucius and Narcissa seated in adjacent chairs; apparently, Draco was in one of the exam rooms getting his final check-up.

Harry turned down the hallway and lurked against the wall, smiling automatically at those who passed by. Finally, Draco himself emerged from the door at the far end of the hall, buttoning the buttons on his sleeve as he walked.

"Malfoy," Harry said evenly, and the blonde looked up.

"Hello. I didn't know you needed to see me, or I would have waited."

"Er, no, that's- well, if you have anything to add to your impact statement, I'll take it, but, um, I really came to congratulate you on your recovery, and to wish you luck."

Draco smiled warmly, and Harry's heart ached again. "I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Harry said softly. "So, you're moving back in with your parents?"

"Hardly. _They_ are moving into the Manor with _me_. Much more dignified that way," Draco said with a smirk.

"Yeah..." Harry was stalling for time now, trying to think of something else to say, because as much as it wasn't good for him he didn't want to leave the man. He had to carefully watch himself, actually, because it was just so_ easy_ being with Draco, the casual touches happened almost unconsciously, and the obvious chemistry was strong even years later. Harry would've sworn Ginny saw the way his hand brushed against Draco's as he handed over his present during the Christmas visit with Scorpius, but she hadn't said anything.

Draco smirked wider. "Thrilling conversation as usual, I see."

Harry resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the other man- Draco made him feel younger than he had in years. Instead he said, "We haven't all got thrilling stories of deranged curse-casters to entertain our guests." And _dammit_ he had not meant to say that in that flirty tone- this was exactly the point; he needed to stop this before he made a mistake. "But, in all seriousness- I'm really glad that you've recovered so well."

"I am, too," said Draco softly. They had now reached the lobby, but neither made any attempt to move. The Slytherin continued, "And... I have to thank you. For all of your hard work on this case, and especially for taking care of Scorpius. Things were hard enough, without having to worry about him too."

"My pleasure," responded Harry. "Or, my job, as the case may be."

"But you went above and beyond the demands of the job," Draco said earnestly. "You always do... and you really don't realize how extraordinary a person you are, Harry."

Draco looked up at him, and his eyes were a dazzling silver when they met Harry's, and the Gryffindor smiled his special Draco smile, his widest, most radiant one. The blonde smiled too and grasped Harry's hand in a brief shake before he turned and walked over to his parents.

Harry stared at his hand, which was still tingly with that delicious electricity that Draco's touches always induced. At last he managed to raise his eyes and just watched until Draco's gorgeous blond hair was completely out of sight.

xxxx xxxx

Ginny was wearing her most serious expression when Harry arrived home that day. Usually he thought it resembled that blazing look she'd worn way back at Hogwarts, but today the light burning in her eyes was different, somehow, softer and deeper.

"Hi, Harry."

"Hey," he said softly, but she didn't move to greet him and receive his kiss.

"Ginny, are you alright?"

"Let's sit, shall we?" she asked, and drifted into the drawing room. Harry followed behind. She didn't _seem _angry, but this was so out of character for her that that was the only explanation his mind provided. He sank down onto the cushion next to her, and it was only then that he noticed why the room looked lighter: the gold sections of the carpet had been returned to their original silver.

"You did all this yourself? Wow, Gin, it looks great."

She smiled. "Thanks. I always wondered why you had silver decorations instead of gold when you're _so_ Gryffindor. Now, I understand."

"It does give a lighter, airy feel to the room, doesn't it?"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Ginny said, in a quiet, intense voice. She turned to look him straight in the face. "I'm talking about Draco Malfoy, and your feelings for him."

Panic shot through Harry like an electric shock. "I never said-"

"You didn't have to. I recognized it in the way you've talked about him this month, how elated you were at his improvement. And today I was reporting on Rolanda Thompkins- you know, the Falcons' Seeker- she got injured, and I followed her to St. Mungo's. Your expression, Harry... I've never see you look that way at anyone."

"Ginny, listen to me," he said, grasping her hands. "That's nothing, okay? I made a commitment to you at our wedding, and I won't break that- I can't, not when we have the children, and you're… well, _you_: wonderfully understanding and kind."

"I made a commitment too. And a major part of it was to ensure your happiness. You'd be happier with him- admit it!"

"I- well…" Harry sighed heavily. "Maybe. Probably. But I'm not _un_happy now- you and the kids add so much to my life. I'm still happy, just happy differently than I'd be otherwise."

Ginny smiled thinly. "The kids adore you. There's no way I'd keep them from you; they need their father. That won't change."

"But, Ginny, what about you? Your happiness, I can't-"

"Harry." Ginny said firmly, forcing him to look up at her. "I talked to Hermione earlier. She told me how she'd never seen you as happy as you were with him. And then how you mourned- for _months_- after he left, how hard you fought to prevent him from making that choice in the first place. You needed each other- still do, probably.

"As for us, well… we've each broken it off before. Me with my training, you at the end of my fifth year. And I'm willing to bet it was a hell of a lot easier doing that than letting go of Malfoy. It got me thinking… if we can separate that easily, are we really supposed to be together?"

"Ginny, don't- how can you say that? I love you!"

"I never doubted that you love me, Harry. I_ know_ you do. But do you honestly think you can only love one person?"

"I- no... Ginny, I'm telling you, I am with _you_. I've chosen to build my life with _you_, not him, and-"

"By necessity, Harry. Because he chose first and forced your hand... and besides, no girl likes to be second-best."

Here was his wife, telling him quite calmly that she knew about his feelings for another person- a man, no less- after twelve years of marriage, and instead of being angry and screaming and crying, she was _joking about it_. Harry thought that he had a truly amazing woman on his hands- how could he give this up? "Merlin, Ginny... I should've told you, right from the first, should've explained."

"Yes, you should have. I care about you, and this is such an important part of your life, your past... I won't say I'm not hurt by that. But I can see why you did it. You've always looked out for other people, Harry, always put them before yourself. And I love that about you... but every once in a while, you have to do what's best for _you_."

"Leaving you, breaking your heart, disrupting the kids- how is any of that best for me? The guilt would never leave, Ginny, you know how I am."

"It's not breaking my heart, Harry. No, it's really not," she said, and her eyes were set and firm so Harry had no option but to believe her. "Because if I didn't, there would always be this voice in the back of my mind wondering if you really_ were_ happy, or if you were wishing things were different. That's not fair to either of us.

"And, besides, I've always been much more of a career woman than a homebody, anyway... Remember how you told me two summers ago that you felt like I was more into my job than I was into you?"

"I was just tired that day, I said I was-"

"You were right," she said. "Seeing how he looked back at you, I could tell Malfoy had given you his whole heart, more of himself than I'd ever given. And you deserve that."

"Ginny... god, I, I just... You are wonderful," he said, dazed. "How could I leave, after all you've just said, after yet another demonstration of why I love you?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

Ginny said it so bluntly, with so much conviction, that any possible retort Harry could have uttered died before it was even born. It was completely ridiculous, thinking that leaving your wife was the right thing to do, and yet he couldn't deny it, not really. Right and wrong in the real world were a lot more complicated than when he'd been fighting Voldemort. Back then, it was simple good versus evil, cut and dry... now all of this grey got in and muddied the waters.

Harry always wanted to protect people, even now. And if he stayed, he wouldn't be saving anyone from anything. Ginny would resent him, which the kids would pick up on. And he'd always be kicking himself for refusing the offer at the same time he strove desperately to prove to his family that he belonged there, that he'd made the right choice. If he left now, though, he and Ginny would part amiably, remain close friends, and it would be much easier on everybody.

He nodded at Ginny, resolutely. "I'm proud of you, Harry," she said warmly, patting his hand.

"Don't ever change," Harry blurted, before he could stop himself. "Everything is going to be different for me now... don't you change, too."

"I promise. Now, don't you have a blonde to sweep off his feet?"

Harry had almost completed his smile when he remembered- just because he was choosing Draco, doesn't mean the blonde would do the same. "Ginny, it's kind of a moot point, now. He- he's built _his_ whole life without me. And he only has his parents to guide him, no stubborn red-head to knock some sense into him."

"He has been stunningly resistant to sense, hasn't he?" Ginny said with a chuckle.

"It's not funny!" Harry cried. "It's... he chose his parents over me, his duty over his heart. And I'm not- this second chance is great, it really is, but it's only happening because he can't remember his family's lessons and influence, the reasons he left in the first place... I waited for him to come to the decision on his own, not by random chance and-"

"Chance, or fate?" Ginny murmured softly. She flicked her wand and a folded letter came whizzing through the air towards her. She caught it and passed it to Harry- the seal had been broken. "Sorry," she said, sheepishly. "But did you really think I'd let you go if I wasn't completely sure?"

Harry barely heard her; he was too busy reading the parchment in front of him, and then re-reading it and re-reading it until he knew it by heart and his tears made it impossible to see anyway.

xxxx xxxx

Draco was pacing. It was quite undignified and unbecoming for a proper Malfoy, of course, but he'd given up trying to be one of those. Upon returning to the Manor, he'd noticed how very few of his ancestors' portraits, now returned to the walls, actually looked happy. And he wanted to be happy. The instant he walked into the expertly-repaired sitting room (his father never settled for less than the best), though, he realized he couldn't be, like this: not because the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably when he entered, even if he didn't remember the attack consciously, but because it looked nothing like he thought it would, given that he only remembered how the furniture had been arranged and how it had been decorated when he and Harry had lived here, and this... wasn't it, wasn't what he wanted.

That realization hadn't exactly been a surprise, but the strength of it certainly was. He'd been waffling horribly the past three weeks, since Fillagree's illuminating visit, trying to decide what to do, being pulled in two different directions. This was how he remembered feeling as he wrote that letter to Harry all those years ago- the one tucked into his front pocket- torn between Harry and his parents, with the added dimension of Scorpius now. And family... family was important. Family sticks together, that had been the defining thought of his adolescence, what had drawn him into the whole mess with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the first place, according to his letter to Harry. Family sticks together, no matter what.

He could recall his parents' faces, the day he took the Mark, the first time he met Harry, waking up after the attack, Harry smiling, defeating the thugs together. That night on top of the Tower, staring down at Dumbledore, thinking of how the green of the Dark Mark reminded him of Harry's eyes, which would be lost to him forever if he did what was expected... that should have been a sign that there was a limit to what your parents could ask of you.

And, something he hadn't thought of in years: that night during the war when Harry had been brought to the Manor, swollen and bound. His parents had expected him to immediately identify him, without hesitation. They'd been counting on him then, to give them what they wanted and return them to favor. But he hadn't done that, he hadn't obeyed.

Maybe that was because- and this was something that had never occurred to him before- what his parents had wanted wasn't what was best for any of them, not him or his father or his mother or the _world_. It wouldn't have gotten them what they thought they needed; certainly not the comfortable life they had now, a peaceful life in France without care. The Dark Lord didn't forgive. They realized that now, his mother especially. And besides, even without Harry, the Light side would have won eventually. One of the things he'd gained- or, perhaps it had always been there, and only then been allowed to assert itself- from his time with Harry was the irrepressible belief that good would triumph over evil, love over hate.

_Love triumphs…_ Even after he'd failed, after he hadn't gone along with his parents' instructions and requests, they'd stuck by him, risked everything for him. They still loved him through the disapproval.

Love again. Here he was, back at love... was it really the answer to this quandary too? Would his parents' love override their disapproval? More importantly, would he allow the possibility that it wouldn't stop him from trying? Fillagree's words floated back into his mind: _very few people get the chance to make a monumental choice such as this over again._

And Draco had sent Joney for quill and ink and penned a letter, the one he should have written sixteen years ago, which he tucked into his breast pocket to be delivered later, if things went well. The second letter was much harder and yet much easier to write, and that one was for Harry. And now, he was waiting for some response, some answer, and it had been far too long already, _hours_. Which was the reason for the pacing.

Finally, he couldn't stand it any more, the not knowing, and he retreated to his old bedroom, from when he was a child, still untouched from the day of his wedding- that memory, Harry's anguished face, was one he dearly wished _hadn't_ returned. He ran his thumb over the lightning bolt on the handle of his wand, breathing deeply, remembering how the real scar on Harry's forehead felt, the softness of his skin...

A quiet _pop! _broke through his reminisces, and he had a tremendous sense of deja-vu as he raised his eyes and saw Harry's reflection in the mirror. This time, the other man was crying, and didn't hesitate to cross the room and wrap his arms around Draco, pulling him close and kissing him, and Draco was quite sure he'd never had a kiss like this, so full of warmth and gratitude and fulfilled dreams and pure _love_.

"You came," Draco whispered as he buried his face in Harry's neck, his own joyful tears falling now.

"Of course I did. How could I not?"

"You'd have every reason not to. After all I've put you through, all that heartache... most people wouldn't."

"Most people don't have an amazing, beautiful, intelligent, brave man waiting for them."

"I... you... you really mean that?"

"And more. With all of my heart. I love you, Draco."

"I love you, too, Harry." Draco sighed and inhaled Harry's scent that still never failed to make him feel more alive and free than anything, unfettered- But Harry wasn't; he had a family, now, even if Draco's was shattered, and of course this infallibly kind man would feel guilty for breaking that up. "I'll always love you... but, what about your children, your wife?"

"It's okay... Ginny understands, and the kids will adjust." Draco was too stunned to say anything, so Harry continued. "I was, honestly, just as shocked as you are... but, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense, because of who she is, and because- because true love conquers all. If fate destined us to be together, who are we to argue?"

"I don't know... I apparently spent the better part of my adolescence trying to fight fate," said Draco, pulling back so Harry would see the smirk and know he was joking.

"Well, we'll just have to work on changing that, won't we?" Harry murmured, and pulled Draco forward to capture his lips in another sweet kiss. "Change isn't always bad."

_No,_ Draco agreed as he allowed himself to get swept up in the passionate kiss that followed those words. _Sometimes, change is the best thing in the world._

**AWWWW! There you are, the boys back together. Hopefully it's at least moderately realistic how it all transpired.  
**

**I'm not sure what to make of Ginny in the books, but in this canon I chose to write her as a strong and courageous woman... unlike Astoria. I feel _unbelievably _bad for Astoria; she keeps getting the short end of the stick, doesn't she? At least she's fairly happy... **

**Only the epilogue left, folks. Thanks again for sticking with me through all of this :)  
**


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue- 2019

Huge brown eyes were staring into his green ones the moment they opened.

"Daddy!" Lily Luna squealed, abandoning all pretense of politeness and grabbing his hand. "Daddy, today is September first!"

"Yes, it is," Harry responded groggily, rubbing his free hand over his face. "What else would have you up so early?"

"Christmas, or my birthday," she responded, practically bouncing now. Lily hadn't picked up on the concept of rhetorical questions yet. "But this is even _more_ exciting!"

"Of course it is. It's my baby girl's special day!" he cried in a sickeningly sweet voice, pinching her cheek. That did it; she let go of his arm and danced away from him.

"I am _eleven_, Dad!" she huffed.

"Right you are. Well, you've done your job; I'm up now. You can head down to breakfast. I asked Kreacher to make-"

"Don't tell me! I want to be surprised!" And his daughter was gone in a dash of crisp Hogwarts robes.

Harry dressed quickly; it wouldn't do to have his children running through the house unattended. He emerged from the bedroom just as Albus was descending the stairs, empty milk glass from last night in hand.

"Good morning," Harry said, and wrapped his son in a hug which was returned whole-heartedly.

"Hi, Dad. I've just finished packing, so we can leave as soon as breakfast is done."

"Assuming your brother gets up in the next fortnight..." Albus smiled wryly and continued down the stairs; Harry's youngest son's sense of humor was most similar to his own.

Predictably, James was still snug in his red-and-gold Gryffindor comforter knitted by Molly Weasley, feigning sleep. When he thought about it, Harry was rather glad Lily hadn't attempted to wake her brother. In his three years at Hogwarts his eldest had acquired quite a dirty mouth. Although why he'd expected anything different, naming him James Sirius...

Smirking, Harry pulled at his wand and whispered "_Limax Lemur!_"

There were a few seconds of silence before James felt a slug crawling up his leg. He gave a tremendous yell and bolted out of bed, frantically beating his leg with a pillow, trying to brush it off. He only managed to spin around wildly, getting dizzier by the minute, and Harry had to grab his arms to keep him from falling over.

James looked into his father's face, and his own suddenly switched from fright to annoyance. "Daaaad!"

"What is it, James?" he asked seriously, stifling a chuckle.

"Dad, take it off me! I'm awake now!"

Harry flicked his wand and the sensation vanished. It was a cute little spell that only gave the sensation of a creeping slug. James was trying hard to stay angry, but Harry could tell he'd appreciated the prank. Finally, he gave up and broke into a huge grin. "Good one! I'll have to remember that spell, for when Dave-"

"I don't think I'm supposed to hear that," Harry said quickly. "Then your mother will expect me to put a stop to it." James grinned broadly. "Anyway, go get dressed. Breakfast is on the table, and we have to leave for King's Cross in-" he glanced at the pocket watch he always carried "- about an hour."

"But what about-"

"He's meeting us there. Now let's go; this stuff isn't going to pack itself. And I'll know if you charm it to do so," he added sternly.

xxxx xxxx

Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters was packed, as usual, but Harry expertly wove through the crowd to join up with Ron, Hermione, and their children.

"Where's Ginny?" he asked, watching James as he ducked under Hermione's arm and towards the corner where his friends always met.

"Some press conference for the Cannons, couldn't avoid it. She says hi," Ron said.

"That's a shame... I'll have to Floo her, then, let her know the kids enjoyed themselves this week."

"Of course they did. Honestly, Harry, how much sugar did you give them this morning?" Hermione chided, but her mouth twitched upwards.

"They had blueberries on the waffles! That's healthy!"

"We also had maple syrup and strawberry marmalade, and that Muggle Kool-Aid stuff," Lily cut in, pausing in her conversation with Rose.

"That's not exactly helpful," Albus pointed out.

"No, but it's honest. And I appreciate that, Lily," Hermione said fondly.

"Now if only Hugo would take a leaf out of her book..." Ron muttered. His son had taken to viewing James as something of an idol to be emulated, as demonstrated by the way he now sat watching his cousin and his friends, thoroughly enthralled.

Harry and his friends talked idly for a few more minutes, during which Harry kept glancing impatiently at the clock. At ten minutes to the hour, James bounded back to him to bestow a hug on all the adults and say his goodbyes before boarding the train.

"Oh, Dad, can I go and sit down too? Rose said I could share her compartment," Lily asked at once.

Harry smiled. "Sure. You have a great year, okay?" He hugged her close.

"I will... I'll miss you, Daddy."

"And I'll miss you, too. But I'll definitely write, okay? As often as you want."

Lily nodded. Next to him, Ron and Hermione were taking it in turns to say goodbye to Hugo and Rose. "Are we coming to your house or mum's first, for Christmas?"

"Haven't talked about that yet. We'll let you know," Harry said, throwing in one more hug for good measure. "I love you."

"Love you, too," she sang and turned towards the train.

"Miss Potter, I do believe you've forgotten something."

Lily and Harry both whirled at the familiar voice. Sure enough, Draco was striding towards them, fringe falling into his eyes and smile on his face. Scorpius was right by his side.

"How silly of me. I crave your pardon," Lily replied, with a giggle. She loved it when Draco treated her like a noblewoman of old. Ginny had approved, since all girls want to feel like a princess at some point in their lives.

Lily skipped forward and curtseyed. Draco bowed gallantly and only rose halfway before Lily flung her arms around him. "I'm going to miss you!"

"I'll miss you too, Lily. But you'll enjoy Hogwarts immensely."

"I know, but thank you anyway! Oh, but I should go; Rose and Hugo are waiting for me." She ran towards the train again. "Bye, Dad! Bye, Draco!"

The men in question waved identically, which caused Hermione to smile softly, and Ron to roll his eyes. It had been a bit touch-and-go with those two in the beginning, but after Ron saw that Ginny wasn't broken-hearted and that Draco was a decent guy, they had come to an understanding. The help Draco gave on the experimental potions for the joke shop helped, too. As for Hermione, she'd always approve of something that made Harry as happy as Draco did.

The first whistle sounded, and Albus came up for his farewell hug from each of them, and Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron as well. Scorpius shuffled along behind him self-consciously.

"Scorp," said Harry softly, crouching to look the boy in the eye. He was thirteen now and had just hit a growth spurt, so it wasn't too uncomfortable. "How was your mother?"

"Same as always. At least she's happy," he said with a sigh.

"Hey... if you need anything, you know you can count on your dad and me, don't you?"

"I do. Thank you, Harry." Scorpius paused and then added, "Go ahead and ruffle my hair; I know you want to."

Harry grinned in response to the blonde boy's small smile and obliged. "Have a good term, alright?"

"Definitely," he agreed and then turned to Draco. He spent a few moments with his father before walking over to the door of a compartment a little ways away, where Albus was waiting for him. They climbed aboard just as the doors started closing, and Harry waved to all of his children as the train pulled out of the station.

"Mum always said letting go of the youngest was the hardest," Ron said as the last glint of red disappeared over the horizon.

"Scorpius is the same age as Rose; he's not the youngest."

"No. But you've known him the shortest amount of time. And he seems so fragile and all..."

"He's stronger than he looks. Like his dad," Harry responded, and automatically Draco stepped forward and grabbed Harry's hand.

"Or like his namesake," Draco murmured.

"_Middle_ namesake," said Harry cheekily.

"Yes, well, I figured so many other couples would be naming their first-born 'Harry.' I wanted to be unique."

"Oh, you have no problems with that," said Harry. "One might say weird, even."

"Look, mate, as much as I'm glad you're happy, the flirting is getting to be a bit much," said Ron good-naturedly. "Hermione and I have plans, anyway, so we'll leave you two at it."

"Ron! Honestly..." said Hermione. "You'll meet us at Luna's baby shower later, won't you?" she added.

"Certainly," Draco responded. "Seven o'clock on the dot. And I picked out the gift, not Harry, so there's no need to worry."

"Good." Hermione smiled. "Come on, Ron, we only put enough in the meter for an hour."

"I know how much we put in the meter, Hermione! You'd think I was your kid and not your husband, to hear you sometimes."

Hermione's huffed reply was lost as they wandered away, towards the stairs.

"Some things never change," Harry chuckled.

"No, they don't. Like the fact that I love you," Draco whispered, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist.

"Or that I love you," Harry responded, leaning into the touch. "This odd little family dynamic we've got going really works somehow, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Although with you around, that's hardly surprising. Extraordinary things happen quite a lot when you're involved." Harry shrugged non-commitally, and Draco reluctantly removed his arms to grab Harry's hand and begin the walk to the exit. Several people smiled and waved as they passed; it turns out dating the Savior of the Wizarding World did wonders for your PR image. Not that Draco cared about that in the slightest, but it was refreshing not to be spat at anymore.

"I never expected I'd be here," he said idly.

"Me neither. Certainly took us long enough," Harry responded, bestowing a smile on a small girl clutching her mother's hand.

"That it did... but even though it's been hard, I can't say I'd rather be anywhere else."

"No, love, this is right where we're supposed to be."

In that moment, as they kissed under the archway in King's Cross Station, both men were thinking the exact same thing: _And this time, it's forever._

**And there you are. Happy ending for everybody :)**

**I have to thank all of you guys so, so much for sticking with me to the end. Your reviews consistently made me smile, and I'm still in awe of how many of you put this on your alerts or favorited it. I couldn't have asked for better readers.**

**If you're interested, I have at least three more fics in the works right now: a one-shot and then two chapter fics. So you can look for those if you'd like. Or not- either way, God bless you.**

**Love, **

**AmayaSora  
**


	25. Announcing EXTRAS!

**Hello, fans of _Extraordinary_!**

**I'm just dropping a line here to let you all know that I've begun posting little companion ficlets (if you can even call them that; some of them are only a few paragraphs long) to this, if you are interested.**

**I know they're _long_ overdue, but I do think they're fun little reads. You can find them under on my profile under ****"Extras." **

**I'll keep this notice up for a few weeks at most and then just meld it into the Author's Notes at the end of the Epilogue, just FYI.**

**Thank you all,**

**AmayaSora**


End file.
